


it's kind of a long story

by fkaps (orphan_account)



Series: lucases and eliotts no. 1 - infinity [6]
Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Future Fic, M/M, They love each other, like a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-18 11:32:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19333687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/fkaps
Summary: Lucas met Eliott when he was six and didn't realize he loved him until much later.Eliott met Lucas when he was eight, promptly fell in love, and loved him for the rest of his life.alternatively:"they met when they were young and spent their lives more apart than together. a prelude to how they found their way back to each other."or, the childhood-adulthood au where Eliott and Lucas find themselves, and eventually one another.





	it's kind of a long story

**Author's Note:**

> this monster was written out of my need to write a fic spanning a character's life vs a short period of time. it's completely unedited so if you see a typo or something that doesn't make sense i will eventually come back to polish it up
> 
> i'm experimenting with eliott's pov with this one! i hope i do it justice. if there's anything that seems off/inaccurate in terms of his portrayal please do let me know

_but, i saw you. i saw only you._

* * *

 

  
_ages 6 and 8_

 

At the tender age of eight, Eliott Demaury was decidedly more mature than the rest of his peers.  
  
When Mme Boivard next door tripped down the three step stairway leading to her home, Eliott was the one who rushed inside to alert his mom, leaving his toys in a heap on the grassy expanse of their front yard, despite the looming threat of the annoying boy across the street, who'd been eyeing his Captain America action figure ever since their mothers had forced them to play together.

He would get up early to pack his preferred snacks before he went to school, sometimes an apple that he would meticulously wash, just like his father had shown him, other times a chocolate chip cookie (or two, or three) shoved inside a small Tupperware labelled with his name across it in a mess of self Sharpied capital letters, so his Mama could sleep in a little bit longer. When Papa got busy at work and was late picking him up from daycare, Eliott would occupy himself with his drawings or daydreams, willing himself not to cry so that Mlle Laurent wouldn't think he was a baby.   
  
The point is, Eliott was mature, when considered as a standalone, and especially as a comparison to other kids his age.  
  
So, when the new neigbours next door, a single mom and her son, moved in and Mama made them a 'Welcome to the Neighbourhood' chocolate cake, Eliott's favourite, he followed at her heels dutifully, armed with his Captain America action figure, when she went to deliver it. Without complaining once. Even if Mama wouldn't let him have a single bite.   
  
The woman who opened the door looked pretty, not as pretty as his Mama, but still pretty. Her blonde hair was in disarray, blue eyes widening when they landed on the dish in his mother's hands, face erupting in a warm smile. After exchanging pleasantries and introductions, she invited the pair inside for tea, insisting they make themselves at home.   
  
Boxes upon boxes laid halfway unpacked, scattered in the parts of the living room Eliott could see from the hallway, at the helm of the staircase, strewn on the floor of the foyer. A singular photo frame sat on an end table near the coat rack, one of the sole pieces of furniture he could see in the house. The woman, Mme Lallemant, she had said in response as he introduced himself, was carrying a toddler with light brown hair and the same blue eyes as her. Mme Lallemant was laughing as she looked down at the boy, sunlight gleaming and causing her to squint, while the boy looked like he was on the cusp of breaking out into tears, evidenced by his reddened cheeks and hands balled up in fists.   
  
"Who's that?" Eliott asked curiously, careful not to touch the frame as he tiptoed to see it closer.  
  
"Oh!" Mme Lallemant exclaimed, clasping her hands together from where she stood in the kitchen with Eliott's mom, "That's Lucas. He's around the same age as you Eliott!" she says, walking towards the staircase, shouting, "Lucas! Come downstairs please! We have visitors."  
  
There's a resounding crash, followed by a muffled 'Coming!' and the patter of steps rushing out of a closed room. A boy, short in stature, the mop of messy locks on top of his head adding a few inches of height to his otherwise small frame, peers out from an enclave, hiding his body save for his head from the audience downstairs.   
  
"Lucas," Mme Lallemant calls out, walking up the stairs to lead her son down with an extended hand, "This is Mme Demaury," she says, gesturing at Mama, who's moved to stand beside him, "And Eliott."

Lucas, who's hidden himself behind his mom, pokes out shyly, waving timidly. There's a juice stain on his shirt and the hem of his shorts looks worn. 

"Hi," Eliott says, when Mama nudges him forward.

"Hi."

"Do you want to play together?"

"Lucas," Mme Lallemant cuts in, placing a comforting hand on her son's back, "Why don't you take Eliott upstairs to your room so Eliott's mom and I can talk?"

"Okay."

Lucas is quiet as he withdraws from behind his mother's back, tentatively sidling beside Eliott, wordlessly walking upstairs, one step ahead of him. 

"How old are you?" Eliott asks, breaking the silence.

"Six."

 _Two years younger than him_ , Eliott thought. Just like irritating Basille across the street.

"I'm eight." Eliott says, as they reach the top of the stairs.

Lucas halts, looks at him blankly, as if wondering what he was supposed to do with that information.

"Do you have any toys?"

"Yeah," Lucas brightens at the query, "In my room," he says, grabbing Eliott's hand and dragging him in the direction of the door at the end of the hallway.

The first thing Eliott notices is that the bedroom walls are painted blue. Like the colour of the sky on a clear day, when the sun is shining and Mama lets him bike to Idriss's house three blocks over to play. Or like the community pool in the summer where Papa taught him how to float and blow bubbles underwater. 

There's a couple of toys strewn around the floor surrounding the unmade bed, mattress bare, lacking sheets, price tag attached to its edge. The room is sparse. Most of Lucas's belongings look like they're still contained within the myriad of cardboard boxes taped up and stacked in a pile at the corner of the room. He's startled out of his observations by a tug on the sleeve of his t-shirt.

"C'mon," Lucas whines impatiently, "Let's play."

Noting the lack of items available to them, Eliott immediately remarks, "I only have one action figure," hoping Lucas will get the hint and he won't have to share. He wants to be polite, he knows that's what Mama would want too, but the last time he shared his favourite toy it got broken, and he was the one who had to apologize for yelling at the boy who damaged it.

"It's okay," Lucas shrugs easily, "I like Iron Man better anyway,", rummaging around in the bottom drawer of a nightstand adjacent to the bed frame, emerging with a deck of cards, "Do you want to play Go Fish?"

Eliott had no idea what that was. But he wasn't about to look dumb in front of him.

"Yeah, sure."

Lucas starts to shuffle the pile, motions practiced but still unstable, individual cards almost falling and falling out of the deck when his movements became too rapid. Still, from Eliott's perspective it was the most impressive thing he'd ever seen. 

"Lucas?"

"Hm?"

"I-" he starts ashamedly, "I don't actually know how to play Go Fish."

"That's okay," Lucas says, "I can teach you. Papa taught me too."

"Where's your Papa?" Eliott wonders out loud, slapping a hand over his mouth when he realizes his slip up. Mama warned him about asking rude questions, told him before they came over that Lucas's dad didn't live with them like his did and how Eliott shouldn't mention him because it might make Lucas sad.

The younger boy, however, seems unperturbed, slowly passing out the cards as he concentrates on counting an equal number between the two, "He doesn't live with us," Lucas states matter-of-factly, placing the remaining deck in the middle, "Mama and him got a divorce and now I live with her."

"What's a divorce?"

"It's when your Mama and Papa don't love each other anymore and stop living together, but they still love you." Lucas answers wisely.

Eliott ah's in understanding, suddenly feeling sad on Lucas's behalf. If his Mama and Papa ever got divorced, he thinks he'd probably cry a lot, not like Lucas who seemed very calm about it all.

"Why do you look so sad?"

"Because," Eliott sighs exasperatedly, "It's so unfair that you don't have a Papa!"

"I have a Papa," Lucas insisted, "I just don't live with him."

Eliott stares at Lucas, who appears to be fine, but his eyes are wet with unshed tears and his mouth that starts to wobble indicate otherwise. Eliott jumps at the chance to bravely reassure him, "Don't worry Lucas, I'll be your Papa!"

"You can't do that!"

"Why not?"

"You-You're just a kid!" Lucas splutters, "You can't be a Papa!"

"I'm two whole years older than you," Eliott retorts.

"You don't even know how to play Go Fish!"

"Even Papas don't know everything."

"Mine does," Lucas asserts, looking at Eliott accusingly.

"Okay, fine," Eliott relents, crossing his arms irritatedly, "Well? Aren't you going to teach me how to play?"

Lucas picks up on the animosity, passing Eliott his cards and rushing through the explanation of the rules, launching them into the first round of the game without delay. Eliott can feel the younger's boys eyes on him as he deliberates carefully during his turns, Lucas opening his mouth several times, eventually restraining himself from actually saying anything. It's quite annoying, but Eliott's focus is on the game and proving a point. 

After four consecutive losses, Eliott triumphantly slams the final pair of cards he's managed to match on the carpeted floor, effectively allowing him to win and Lucas's jaw to drop.

"I've never lost a game with Papa before." 

"See? Papas don't know everything," Eliott alludes to his previous point, "Yours doesn't know how to win Go Fish."

"I guess you're right," Lucas acquiesces reluctantly, blinking in disbelief, the harsh reality of the world sinking in and shattering around him.

They continue to play, Eliott winning some rounds, losing the others. By the time they reach their tenth match, he's gotten the hang of the game, how to read Lucas's face, find out which cards he was likely to have in his hand and which ones he definitely didn't. In between the shuffling of the deck and distributing of cards, they talked about school, argued over the superior Avenger, listened to recounts by Lucas of his old friends and the neighbourhood where he used to live, closer to downtown with corporate buildings in place of parks and cul de sacs. 

Lucas is in the middle of telling Eliott a story about the time he got lost at the library where his mom worked during 'Take Your Kid to Work Day' when Eliott's mom calls out from downstairs.

"Eliott! It's time to go home now."

Eliott stands up from the floor, surprised at how sad he is to leave. Especially since he was not excited at all to come in the beginning. He's sad, but seeing Lucas, who looks equally upset, strangely enough makes him feel happier.

"Bye, Eliott."

"Bye."

"Wait-" Lucas calls out to his retreating form, "Do you want to play again tomorrow?"

"I have to ask Mama," Eliott says, "But yeah, I do."

Lucas beams, nodding in understanding, "Okay. See you tomorrow then!" 

Eliott waves farewell, bidding Mme Lallemant goodbye before walking out of the house hand in hand with his mom. He mulls over kicking the rock on the sidewalk in his path, choosing to jump over it instead.

"Mama, can I go to Lucas's house again tomorrow?"

"If Lucas's mom is okay with it."

"Okay," Eliott pauses, "Can Lucas come over if his mom says no?"

"Sure," his mom agrees, "Sounds like you had a good time today."

"It was okay," Eliott says, adding on thoughtfully, "Lucas is cool."

"Really?"

"Much better than Basille."

"Eliott."

"Sorry."

* * *

 

 

_ages 16 and 18_

 

"Mama, I'm leaving!" Eliott calls out, stuffing the remaining piece of toast on his plate in his mouth and giving his dad an air kiss as he heads outside.

"Do you need a ride to school?"

"No, it's okay!" He shouts back, retrieving his helmet from the hook on the wall, "Lucas and I are biking together." He takes out the bike from it's spot in the corner of their garage, careful not to scrape the hood of his dad's treasured Toyota, a car that was probably older than him, boarding it to ride the short distance from his house to Lucas's across the road. Balancing on the seat, he pulls out his phone to text a quick 'i'm outside' message to his friend, tapping his foot as he waited for Lucas who was late as usual.

It's surprising that Lucas and him managed to maintain their friendship as long as they had. Being two years apart with separate friend groups was obstacle enough, but when Mme Lallemant's health took a turn for the worse and Lucas began to withdraw himself from all his friends, including Eliott, he was sure that his old friend would never be the same, and consequently, their relationship.

However, as it turned out, following the official diagnosis, it was Eliott who Lucas found a confidant in the most. It wasn't uncommon for the younger boy to show up at Eliott's doorstep in the middle of the night, when his own mom was away at the hospital.

Eventually, Eliott's parents had decided it would be best for everyone involved if Lucas took up in the spare room beside Eliott's during his mom's hospital stays, allowing them to keep a closer eye on Lucas and for Lucas himself to gain back a sense of normalcy in his life. Often times, the bed would remain vacant, Lucas choosing to camp out in Eliott's room instead as the older one captivated him with narrations of his ideas for the short films him and Idriss had started filming for fun, or as Eliott listened attentively to Lucas's complaints about how his chemistry teacher had it out for him and the fact that it was the only course deterring him from achieving straight 20s.

It was a time where he unearthed all the different versions of Lucas, the diligent student, the concerned son, the best friend. 

It was also during this time that Eliott fell in love with Lucas. Or at least, it's what he thinks love was supposed to feel like. 

Navigating through his newfound feelings proved troublesome. Eliott wasn't sure how much of it was him yearning to be with someone, with anyone for that matter, and how much of it was genuinely romantic. Besides Idriss and Sofiane, Lucas was the only other person who he'd been friends with for so long. Sometimes he wondered if he mistook comfort for affection, familiarity for love, but if that was the case Idriss and Sofiane would be first on his list of prospects.

And then he's back at the beginning of the cycle, recognition, worrying, denial, acceptance, rinse and repeat. 

"Hey!"

He's spared from spiraling into his internal ramblings by the sound of Lucas's voice shouting from his garage. Eliott nods in his direction, a silent hello, "You ready?"

"Yeah," Lucas says, walking the bike out of his driveway by the handles, "Just a minute."

"Late again?" Eliott nags, "No wonder M. Boucher hates you," he teases, the reference to Lucas's chemistry teacher causing the latter to wrinkle his face and flip him off. 

"Haha," Lucas deadpans, climbing atop his own bike after easing it away from the house, "If we weren't late because of me, your lame ass jokes will definitely make it happen."

"Are you going to keep making excuses for yourself, or can we leave now?"

"Lead the way, oh punctual one."

This was another one of their rituals. When the weather was nice out, like it usually was during late spring, they would bike to and from school together, often straying and chancing upon areas around their neighbourhood that went otherwise unnoticed. It was how Eliott discovered his favourite kebab shop, where Lucas found the niche bookstore that sold discounted, old copies of textbooks he needed for school, and, how they stumbled upon their place.

La Petite Ceinture was a safe haven Eliott had claimed for them long before it became the widespread hangout for people their age, frequented for its seclusion from the rest of the city, allowing for a sheltered location from parents to drink, smoke weed and not get in trouble for it.

Still, at the right time, during the right days, it was just like when they first found it. Tranquil, private, the perfect place for Lucas to study and Eliott to sketch in the margins of his notebook and pretend to do the same. For them to share a joint together, silently passing it between the two of them until it was reduced to a stub incapable of further use. Sometimes they'd go after a particularly rough day at school, find a clean, grassy patch of ground, and simply fall asleep. It was sacred, and for Eliott, just as much of a home as his actual home was.

They get to school minutes before first bell, targeting two available spots on a bike rack near the entrance next to each other. In the midst of parking, while Eliott is propping his cycle up on its kickstand, Lucas mentions offhandedly, "There's a party Friday night, at that new girl's place."

"Chloe?"

"Yeah."

"Doesn't Yann have a thing for her?"

"Uh-huh," Lucas affirms, almost sadly, "He's the one who told me about it."

"Want to go together?" Eliott asks, choosing to ignore the flash of emotion that crosses his friend's face.

"Sure."

"Alright," he says, securing the bike to the rack with his lock, already heading in the direction of the doors leading to the main foyer, "See you after school?"

He feels a hand grasp his shoulder, turning around curiously to Lucas's hopeful face, "You're still good to hang out today right?" Lucas asks, "I need to talk to you about something."

"Is everything okay?"

"It's fine," Lucas says, sighing as he amends, "No, it's not. But we'll talk more afterwards. Meet me here when you're done your last class?"

"Sounds good."

The rest of the day is a flurry of classes Eliott despises with people he begrudgingly tolerates. He hates how he has to take math when it has nothing to do with making films or writing stories. The numbers he's scrawled into his notebook, copied from his teacher's clumsy handwriting on the chalkboard, are like a foreign language, letters representing numbers strung together to form equations that make no sense, conveying theoretical ideas with minimal opportunities for practical application. 

About halfway through the day, he gives up halfhearted attempts at understanding the material, extracting his rough draft of the storyboard dictating his latest idea for a movie from his backpack. He's got the basics of the plot down, two characters who he's shamelessly modeled after himself and Lucas, how they can't be with together because they're both inherently afraid of each other's respective worlds. 

That's where he gets stuck. He's not sure what their fears are, nor can he decide on a setting or resolution. It's frustrating because he knows what he wants to impart, the exact emotions and feelings he associates with the story, but he can't pinpoint a vehicle or medium that would drive his intentions forward successfully. He hates it, because these days, once he focuses on his untitled project, or any one thing really, it's like an anchor that weighs him down, inhibiting him from thinking about anything else. It causes the hours to go by leisurely, making him want to scream at the clock hanging up on the wall to go faster, lest he combust right there and then.

Eventually, the day does end, Lucas and him winding up at Petite Ceinture, lying down in the clearing, joint passing back and forth languidly between them. They're at its last dregs, and Lucas still hasn't brought up what he wanted to discuss. Anxiety building, Eliott can't contain himself any longer, saying, "What did you want to talk about?"

Lucas requests the remaining bit of weed leftover, hands shaking as he finishes it off and takes a deep breath before exhaling. "I like someone."

He'd figured as much. "Okay."

"It's not a girl." 

Eliott sighs, contemplating whether to jokingly throw the scattered, dried up leaves on the ground at Lucas, "Lucas, I've known you're gay since you were twelve."

"I know!" He huffs in response, "Just thought I'd clarify."

"I like someone," Lucas continues, propping himself up, "And it's hard, because besides being straight, he's also a good friend."

Eliott thinks for a moment, sitting upright, treading carefully, trying not to be too obvious, "Sometimes things worth pursuing are also worth losing friends over," adding on as an afterthought, "And he might not be straight."

Lucas scoffs at that, "I'm pretty sure he's straight."

"Can you guarantee that?"

"No, but it's kind of obvious," Lucas elaborates, "Especially considering his past history."

"Still, you shouldn't assume." _This was it._

"You're right," Lucas agrees, "Except, I think I'd know if Yann was into guys by now."

_Wait, what?_

"Yann?"

"Yeah," Lucas confirms, gauging his reaction, one that Eliott schools into a neutralized version of the incredulity he actually feels right now.

"You like Yann?"

"Don't make me say it twice," Lucas groans, burying his face in his palms.

_He likes Yann, he likes Yann, he likes Yann, he likes Yann-_

"Okay, Eliott you're scaring me," Lucas says worriedly, "Please, say something."

What's he supposed to say to that? 

"I don't know what you want me to say," he replies honestly.

Lucas lies back down, arm covering his eyes, shielding away sunlight peeking through the trees, "Neither do I."

Things are stilted between the two of them after that. He gets away with not biking to school with Lucas for the remainder of the week with the help of the weather forecast and his dad's willingness to drop him off to school. Except, his dad is also more than happy to extend that willingness to Lucas, who joins them in the backseat, conversing with his father like nothing happened, virtually unaffected. 

It pisses Eliott off, quite frankly. How Lucas seems to be just fine after breaking his heart, albeit unknowingly. He, on the other hand, can't do anything without his thoughts drifting back to Lucas. During math he thinks about how Lucas would probably whiz through all the problems he struggled painstakingly through with ease, in Literature he thinks about how Lucas would definitely mooch off his past assignments when the former eventually read Madame Bovary himself. Hell, he can't even think about Petite Ceinture, the one place he could always depend on, without Lucas's confession plaguing his thoughts. 

When Friday night inevitably comes around, Eliott's fully intending on holing himself up in his room and not leaving until Monday morning. He's not sure how Idriss ends up convincing him to go to Chloe's, but somehow he finds himself in her living room, beer in hand, sitting next to Yann and Lucas of all people, after Idriss ditched him for some third year. 

"So, Eliott," Yann implores, words faintly slurring, "Excited to get out of this hell hole soon?"

"Yeah man," Eliott answers, meaning it a little bit more now than he might have before, "Counting down the days."

"Hey!" Lucas shouts indignantly, noticeably tipsy, "What about me?"

"What about you?"

Lucas pouts in response, whispering dramatically, "Are you going to leave for university and forget all about me?"

_Hopefully._

"Of course not," Eliott sighs, the corners of his mouth curving slightly upward as Lucas cheers, swinging a friendly arm around his shoulders.

"Eliott and I," Lucas hiccups, pointing between them as he speaks to Yann, "We're best friends. Did you know that?"

"Then what am I?" Yann whines.

"You're my best friend too," Lucas says reassuringly, "But Eliott's, he's like- he's like my brother."

"I'm going to get a refill," Eliott announces loudly against Lucas's objections, taking the other's empty cup as well which effectively hushes him.

He needs to numb himself. It's the only way he's going to survive tonight. 

One serving turns into two, number escalating until he's lost count. Lucas's glass lays forgotten on the counter, until Eliott remembers and takes a shot of something out of it too. Maybe three.

The makeshift dance floor thrums with commotion, his friends, fellow students, a handful of strangers, clustered together in a heap, dancing in, around and on top of one another. He spots Lucille, a girl from his Philosophy class who's been, according to Sofiane, dropping not so subtle hints about her fondness for Eliott for quite some time now. He'll blame it on the alcohol flowing through his veins later, but for now, he reasons, who is he to reject her? 

Eliott slinks in easily beside Lucille, maneuvering himself between two other guys vying for her attention, feeling guilty as her initial surprise transitions into sheer joy.

He stares down Lucas across the living room, following him with his eyes as he cozies up next to Yann. It was literally right in front of him, how Lucas's eyes softened for Yann unlike they did for anyone else, the unconscious, or perhaps conscious, way his body leaned into the other's boy's figure, the closest it could get without them actually touching. 

Blinded by his own infatuation. That's all there was to it.

There was no plot to make him jealous by formulating a story about a fake crush, or chickening out prior to confessing his feelings for him by replacing Eliott's name with Yann's at the last second. It was all in his head, just like the scripts he wrote to go with movies he'd probably never shoot. 

Lucille's body grinds on his, hypnotizing and inducing a trance like state within him. Later, he'll chalk it up to the vibe, falling victim to his surroundings, the alcohol he'd consumed. But, for now, he knows. Eliott knows that the only reason he ducks his head and joins their lips, much less than he'd have to in order to reach Lucas's height he notes, is to forget. To lose himself in something that wouldn't cause him to break, and maybe in the process glue some of what was already broken back together.

He opens his eyes, doesn't quite know why, but when he does, Lucas is staring right at him, maybe before Eliott even registered it himself. 

"I need some air!" He shouts over the music to Lucille, motioning at the doors leading outside.

"Do you want company?" 

"It's fine," Eliott waves her off, supplementing when he sees her face dull, "I'll call you?"

"Okay!" She yells back, visibly brightening. He kisses her cheek goodbye before walking away, checking for his wallet and keys in the jacket he probably shouldn't have left on the coat rack near the front of the house.

There's a porch swing on the deck, like the one he vaguely remembers having in the backyard of the house they lived in before moving to his current neighbourhood. He takes a seat, allowing the cold air to sober him up, eyesight adjusting to the pitch black of the night sky, polarizing after being subject to the flashing strobe lights against the dark walls of the house's interior. 

"You didn't come back with my drink," Lucas's voice indicates his presence in the background before he sits down next to Eliott, "I got worried."

"Sorry," Eliott shrugs, "Forgot."

"I figured," he replies, raising a cup sloshing with liquid as he quips, "That's why I got my own."

"So," Lucas trails after Eliott doesn't respond, taking a swig of his drink before continuing, "You and Lucille, huh?"

"Yeah."

"You never told me anything about her."

"Like you told me about Yann?"

"It's not the same thing."

"Really?" Eliott asks bluntly, unable to prevent the sharpness in his tone from coming through, "Please, enlighten me. How is it any different?"

"Yann and I, we're friends. If it doesn't work out, which it won't, I'll break my heart and lose a friend in the process," Lucas explains slowly, "Did you and Lucille even know each other before tonight?"

"Why does that matter?" he counters angrily, "Are you saying my feelings don't count as much as yours?

"No! Of course not-" Lucas swears, "Why are you putting words in my mouth?"

He slams a hand on the pole supporting the swing, the resounding clash of skin meeting metal causing Lucas to jump, "God Lucas," Eliott says exasperatedly, "I swear, you can be so dense sometimes."

"What are you talking about?"

"Lucille's not the one I like, you idiot!"

"Then who...?"

"Lucas, stop," he demands, "Stop acting like it hasn't been obvious since you told me about Yann."

"Eliott-"

"A brother? Seriously, Lucas? Is that what you think of me?" Eliott demands, Lucas growing bewildered with every word he utters. He trudges on, uncaring about his frenzied speech, how clumsy the words sounded coming out in his inebriated state.

"Because, I hate to break it to you, but I've never thought of you like that. Ever."

"Why are you telling me this?"

Eliott has no idea.

"Forget it," Eliott says, suddenly tired, "I'm going home."

"Let me come with you."

"Don't," he says plainly, "Stay. Have fun. I'll see you tomorrow."

Lucas seems to have taken the claim Eliott mentioned in the spur of the moment to appease him seriously. Eliott is nursing a serious hangover when he shows up at his doorstep late afternoon, almost evening, later that day.

"Hey."

"Hi."

"Feel like taking a walk?" Lucas asks, guiding them to the park they'd frequented as kids when Eliott concurs reluctantly. He glances at the swings they were definitely too old to ride, then at Eliott, question in his eyes that Eliott answers by jogging, then running when Lucas speeds up to race against him, towards the play structure. 

"Still cheating, as always I see," Lucas jokes, huffing, out of breath as he plops himself on the red seat.

"Says the guy who made a mess of the cards every game of Go Fish he was on the brink of losing."

"Because you were cheating!"

A laugh, playful shove, moment of reprieve.

"Lucas, listen," Eliott starts gingerly, "About last night-"

"You were drunk," Lucas interjects, "It's okay. You probably had no idea what you were saying." 

This was an opening. Lucas was giving him an out. All he had to do was agree, and they could go back to how they were before. 

"Yeah," he says slowly, "Sorry about that."

"No worries," Lucas replies easily, clapping a hand against his shoulder, "Happens to the best of us."

So, Eliott maintains the charade. For the sake of his friendship, for the sake of his well being. He flirts with Lucille in class, and is making out with her in the hallway by the end of the week, confirming their relationship status and cementing them as a couple in the eyes of anyone who cared at school. He placates his parents' distress with regards to his erratic behaviour, excuses it by citing stress due to his upcoming bac, meanwhile skipping out on studying to bike for hours on end, within the neighbourhood, on its outskirts, sometimes all the way downtown and back, until his seemingly endless energy depletes itself and he can sleep for at least three hours before he has to wake up for school again.

And it works. Until Emma, one of Lucas's friends from his year, invited practically everyone at school for a party at her place on the weekend while her parents were out of town.

Lucas and him took the bus together, the journey from Emma's house to their block too long to bike or walk. Upon arrival, they part, retreating to their individual friend groups for what Eliott hopes would be the majority of the night. He spots Idriss sitting in a corner, secluded from the rest of the party, scrolling through his phone mindlessly, looking up when Eliott calls out his name.

"Hey man," Idriss nods at him, tilting his head at the empty couch cushion next to him, "Having fun?"

Eliott sits down, leaning into the plush of the sofa, hoping some of its softness would impart on him, "Trying. You?"

"Yup, same" his friend sympathizes, popping the 'p' on the first syllable, "Pretty lame as far as parties go. Were you at Chloe's last week?"

Of course, Idriss couldn't possibly know what went down that day. How Eliott lost a friendship and a piece of his heart in exchange for a moment's relief and a lifetime of double guessing himself. Yet, it still ignites something inside him, the persistent voice at the back of his mind telling him no one would ever love him, what was one ruined friendship when he could have two? 

So he launches forward, lips aligning with Idriss's in a clumsy kiss that instantly disappoints him.

It feels wrong.

Idriss's lips are warm, but the wrong kind of warm. Just like Lucille's were. Just like Lucas's, he imagines, weren't.

But he's so desperate to feel something, he persists, pressing harder against his friend until he pries him away firmly but gently.

"Eliott." Idriss murmurs softly.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm not mad," Idriss says, "Just confused. You've been off for the past couple of days. Is everything alright?"

Eliott wants to cry at his friend's kindness. It's not what he deserves.

He deserves to get yelled at, to feel Idriss's fist collide with his jaw, not the quiet understanding, the patience he receives instead. But the gratefulness finds an odd way to manifest itself as annoyance, intensifying until Eliott snaps. He finds it easier to shove Idriss away than vocalize the thoughts cycling in and out of his mind at a velocity he can't mentally keep up with, grabbing his jacket and elbowing past drunk attendees and a drunker Emma, who's conversing with a relatively sober Lucas at the front entrance. 

"Eliott?" 

He ignores him.

"Eliott!" Lucas shouts, this time more forcefully. 

"What?" Eliott says harshly, pivoting to face Lucas head on. Their proximity makes it so that he has to look down in order to maintain eye contact with the shorter boy. 

"What the hell is your problem?" Lucas asks bewilderingly, "We have to go home together!"

"Why the fuck is that?"

"You're not making any sense right now," Lucas says, calmer as he backs up and places his hands firmly on Eliott's shoulders, irking him even more, "Let me grab my jacket, I'm coming with you."

Before Lucas can turn around, Eliott uses the chance to remove his hands with a shove, glaring as he responds, "Don't bother."

"Just wait a minute, I literally-"

"For fuck's sake Lucas, shut up!" Eliott roars, attracting the attention of other stragglers around them as well as a clump of partygoers congregated around the exit.

"Leave me alone already! I'm not your mother who needs to be coddled every other second of the day."

He'll regret those words, probably for the rest of his life. But in the heat of the moment, a rush of satisfaction washes over him at watching Lucas's concern transition from hurt to anger. The subdued kind of anger that he masks with blunt words and a stony expression.

Not bothering to stick around for whatever Lucas had to say next, Eliott storms away, travelling in the general direction of his house, not knowing exactly where that was. The strip he's on looks familiar, so he follows it out to the main road where he's one of the few pedestrians bordering high speed motorists on either sides of the street. Wind flew by his ears with the movement of the machines around him, almost carrying him on a journey that he becomes aware of much later would have taken him at least an hour and a half to complete.

He'd make Petite Ceinture his again, he thought furiously as he continued along his path. He was the king of Petite Ceinture and he'd banish anyone who tried to take it away from him. Fuck Lucas. He didn't get to decide what memories Eliott would associate with that place, his place, the one he discovered, the one Lucas probably wouldn't even know about if it wasn't for him. All he needed to do was to get there, but it was so far from where he was, his bike was all the way back at Chloe's and he can see his house from where he's stopped in the middle of the road. How'd he get this far? Was he walking? Did he run? He doesn't know anymore.

Maybe he can borrow the Toyota. His dad won't mind, this was important. It was regarding his sanity for god's sake. He can deal with the repercussions after, even though he knows his dad won't mind. He wrestles with the car door, realizing, fuck, he would need the keys to get in, but they're inside the house and his parents aren't at home and he doesn't have his house keys because he was going to stay at Lucas's place for the night.

The window is open, maybe he can crawl in through there and grab the keys, get in the car and drive away, far away, at least to his spot where he could be alone with his thoughts without thinking about his parents and how mad they'd be, or Lucille, or Idriss, or Lucas, Lucas, Lucas-

The keys are on the table, as if waiting for his arrival. He laughs with glee, it's a sign from the universe telling him "Go Eliott! Run, drive, crash, faster, faster, faster until you can breathe again or you stop."

Shit, he thinks in a moment of clarity. He doesn't have his drivers license. What if the police find him, and he gets arrested? Would anyone come to visit him in jail after this? Do they let criminals make movies? 

He doesn't care, it doesn't matter, all that matters is Petite Ceinture. He can do it. He's eighteen, in love with a boy who doesn't love him back, it doesn't matter and he doesn't care. 

And for a second, he convinces himself all his assurances were true. For a second, the car, his dad's baby being driven by his other baby, good but not good enough, never good enough, weaving through the suburban streets of his neighbourhood well above speed limits is a pair of wings and he's flying home where he might be lonely but at least he wouldn't be sad.

"Sir," the cop shines a flashlight through the window, blinding him, glaring off the dash, "Can I see your license and car registration please?"

Eliott sits in the seat dumbfounded, unable to move or speak.

He doesn't even remember stopping the car.

The events that follow are as such:

1\. He's led outside of the car, thankfully no handcuffs, and placed in the officer's vehicle while they go through his personal effects, the wallet containing his school ID and a cell phone 

2\. His parents are called, away from the party at their friends house they'd been looking forward to attending, Eliott's mom's heels clicking annoyingly as she stumbles towards the squad car with him inside, his dad with his tie loosened to the extent where it looks like it would unknot itself and fall to the ground, the lines of his face tensing in worry.

3\. They take him to the hospital when he refuses to talk, sits through the tests, his parent's description of fluctuating behaviour, lack of focus, what begins to sound like the descent of the tragic hero in stories Eliott had grown up lauding.

4\. Eliott finds out his official diagnosis, his parents pillars steady at his sides, threatening to crumble when the phrases 'bipolar', 'life long struggle' and 'regular medication' make continual appearances throughout the drawn out conversation with the graying doctor who likes to nod sympathetically and clear her throat constantly.

5\. And, weeks later, following countless school days missed, thwarted attempts at visits from friends, skipping out on final exams,

"Eliott," his mother approaches his bedside, teary eyed and dark circles pronounced, "Honey, we've- your father and I think it's best if you spend the summer with Aunt Margot in Nice. She has a room free since Nicole left for university last fall," she swallows a lump in her throat, continuing in what Eliott knows she thinks is a soothing manner, irritates him just the same, "Does that sound good to you?"

He doesn't care.

"Sure," Eliott replies despondently, turning over on his side so that he can't see her anymore, "Whatever you want."

* * *

 

 

_ages 21 and 23_

 

"Do you think about death a lot?"

Eliott sighs. The appointment with Mme Broussard had drifted back to a subject he wanted to avoid. His diagnosis came paired with a recommendation for weekly therapy sessions, and Mme Broussard was the first and last therapist he'd seen before deciding she was perfect for him. Despite her lithe frame and Eliott towering over her, she had a strange way of making him feel small, in an oddly, comforting, good way. Like his issues weren't as impossible to conquer as they seemed. That it was okay to feel the way he did sometimes, and rather than hating himself for it, he was better off deciphering why and determining how to alleviate the problems rather than stressing over their existence. Jumping to overcome obstacles rather than running straight through them, as she metaphorized. 

Mme Broussard also ran track back in lychee, one of the few personal facts about herself that she divulged after three years as his therapist.

Lucille kept texting him pictures of potential convocation outfits, despite his monotone compliments and not so subtle suggestions that someone else, like one her girlfriends, might be better equipped at providing more constructive criticism. There was the matter of picking up his parents from the airport, arriving back from their vacation in Madrid just in time to see him walk across the stage at graduation. His application to intern for a local production company under a favourite indie director had yet to receive a response, and after quitting his barista job at the university cafe on campus prior to exams commencing, anything short of an acceptance email meant no income and moving back in with his parents. 

He hasn't returned to that house since redoing the last year of lychee in Nice, spare a handful of visits to his parents when they were unable to meet him, and barring extenuating circumstances, he wasn't about to go back.

"I-" he cuts off, discouraged, met with a coaxing nod from his therapist, urging him to finish his sentence. 

"All I know," he tries again, "Is that when I go, when I'm walking, running, flying, whatever the hell you do to get to that bright, white light everyone always talks about," he pauses, burying his face in clammy palms, "I want to do it without regrets. I want to think about my life and only remember the good things, good things that make the bad things bearable, worth forgetting."

"I want to die happy," he concludes, "And I'm scared it's not going to happen."

There's a scratch of pen on the notepad Mme Broussard uses for their sessions, filling the silence as Eliott mulls over what he said, consumed in his own thoughts.

"So," she prompts, rousing him out of his spiral, "What makes you happy?"

"That's just it," Eliott says, trying his best not to sound like he's whining about it, "I have no idea."

"Maybe it's something worth exploring," she suggests, "Finding out what it is."

"Let me guess," Eliott predicts, "Now you're going to spring some bullshit about how life is about finding what makes you happy, not actually being happy." 

"Have you considered the possibility that maybe that's what you really believe, not just what you want me to say?"

"I didn't say that's what I wanted you to say."

"You didn't have to."

He narrows his eyes at her as she raises her hands in surrender, "Hey," she says defensively, "I'm just telling you what I think. How you choose to interpret is completely up to you. That's the point of these sessions, for you to find a meaning that works for you."

"Sounds like you're just trying to get me to do your job."

"Was I wrong?"

He sighs, "No," he admits, "You're right. As usual."

They wrap up the meeting at the half hour mark, reduced over time from their original hour long appointments. Mme Broussard congratulates him about graduating, squeezing his hand in an unprecedented, yet welcome all the same, gesture that seems to surprise her as much as it does him.  

Eliott leaves the session lighthearted and relaxed, getting in his car and checking the status of his parents' flight on his phone. Delayed.

Frowning, he deliberates over what to do next. He doesn't think he can put up with Lucille right now, and Idriss's graduation party wouldn't start for another couple of hours. Then again, Idriss could probably use some help setting up, and with his parents' arriving late he'd have to cut early anyway. If nothing else, Sofiane would be there, seizing any chance to make googly eyes at Imane, and Mama Bakhellal had always had a soft spot for Eliott. She made for good company even when his when his friend was nowhere to be found. 

Finalizing his decision, Eliott messages Idriss a quick 'i'm coming early, be there in 15' text, receiving a 'pick up some balloons on your way here', which is as good a confirmation as any. Not getting any specific instruction on what kind to purchase, he grabs one of each assorted pack lining the shelves of the craft store in the plaza around the corner from Idriss's home. 

Eliott rings the doorbell, balloons in hand, waiting before ringing it again when no one comes to the door after approximately a minute or so passes. Noticing a stray leaf sticking to the top of his shoe, he bends down to pick it off, door opening while he's still on the ground.

"Leave it to you to throw a party and have everyone else set it up," he starts to say, without looking up, standing and coming face to face with blue eyes instead of brown, full head of hair, and height paling in comparison to Idriss's.

"Hi." Lucas offers nervously.

"Hey," Eliott replies, stunned, "You're not Idriss."

"What gave it away?" Lucas jokes, smile vanishing when Eliott doesn't react. 

Their friendship never really restored itself after Eliott moved in with his aunt. They fell out of touch, not for lack of Lucas's trying, and in part, perhaps wholly, due to Eliott's avoidance. Eliott rarely went home to visit during his stay in Nice, preferring his parents to come see him instead, and when he did go back, he'd make it a point to voluntarily isolate himself to his room, despite how many times a certain neighbour knocked on the door asking to see him. And finally, one visit, the knocks stopped and Eliott could breathe easy again.

Fast forward, halfway through his third semester at university, and he bumps into Lucas Lallemant for the first time in forever, at the coffeehouse during his shift, nose crammed in a book as he pored over his notes at a table adjacent to the hand off bar.

He was wearing glasses. One of those pairs with the round frames and thin temples.

At some point, Lucas started wearing glasses and he wasn't around to see it. The thought had made him incredibly sad back then, something he laments over now. Out of everything to get melancholic over, rage he'd contained inside himself for years fizzled out over something as stupid as glasses.

The first time he was at the cafe, Lucas didn't notice him, having already ordered prior to the start of Eliott's shift, still immersed in studying at its conclusion. However, the next time, he's not so lucky. Eliott's tasked with the morning shift every Thursday, something he doesn't mind because he only has classes Monday through Wednesday this term. Ten minutes into opening the store and wearing his uniform, Lucas strolls inside, murmuring his order and sifting through his pockets, startling when he emerges, student card loaded with money in hand, eyes meeting Eliott's and hand losing grip, subsequently causing the card to drop on the counter. 

Eliott ignored it then, picking up the card, simply asking Lucas to repeat his order, even though he hadn't actually gotten around to saying it to begin with, interaction setting the tone for the relationship that consequently arose. A casual passerby would never guess the extensive history between them, spanning essentially their whole lives. Their mutual friends were aware that something happened in the past, but deemed it too awkward to acknowledge, silently accepting that whenever Lucas and Eliott were both present at a gathering, it meant one of them would naturally leave early. 

Minimal confrontation and purposeful circumventing. Phrases and words that felt wrong to associate with Lucas, but were the undeniable truth. Eliott's pretty sure that throughout university, he's only had a single one on one conversation with Lucas outside of taking his coffee order, and it was probably this lackluster one.

"Eliott!" Idriss calls out from inside the house, walking to the front and opening the door all the way, "Thanks for coming early."

"Yeah, yeah," Eliott brushes off, taking off his shoes and giving Idriss a quick hug, "Figured you could use a hand."

"The kitchen isn't as busy as it usually is," Eliott notes, making his way towards the living room, Idriss slipping into a pair of slides.

"Catering," Idriss says breezily, "That's where I'm headed right now."

"Aren't you going to blow these up?"

"Nope," Idriss proclaims, "You two are," he says, wrapping an arm around both his and Lucas's, who Eliott had almost forgotten was there, shoulders, disclosing before he runs off to pick up the food, "And, we don't have a pump. Good luck!"

"So," Lucas says as the door slams shut, "Want to start with the smallest pack?"

"Sure."

"What's your lung capacity like?" He asks unexpectedly.

"Average, I guess?"

"Right, dumb question," Lucas laughs shakily, running a hand through his hair, "Sorry, you make me nervous."

"Huh."

"What?"

"Nothing," Eliott replies reflexively, steering the conversation back into guarded territory, "I'm just surprised I make you feel anything at all."

They're on the fourth out of six bags of balloons, the rhythmic pattern of Eliott's own lungs inflating and deflating with every breath he exhaled into the stupid things imprinted in his brain, when Lucas attempts to initiate dialogue again.

"Listen, I'm trying," he says nonchalantly, "But how long are we going to pretend that the first eighteen years of our lives didn't happen?"

"What do you mean?"

"C'mon Eliott," he says exasperatedly, "You know what I mean."

"Friends grow apart," Eliott responds sagely, as if explaining the concept to a child, "It happens to the best of them. It's life."

"Not us," Lucas alleges, outright rejecting the assertion, "It's not the same."

"You have a lot of faith in a friendship that turned out the way it did."

"It's because you didn't tell me what was going on, Eliott!" Lucas bursts out unceremoniously, taking the balloon he was previously blowing out of his mouth, half filled with air and letting it hang to his side, "Don't you understand how much that killed me? Knowing my best friend was out there hurting and not being able to do anything about it?"

"I had to hear about your diagnosis from my Mom," he continues ranting, "Who, I guess you felt was more important to stay in touch with than me."

"She understood what I was going through."

"You didn't even give me a chance to try and do the same!"

"It took you a long time to accept your own mother's illness," Eliott retaliates, "Forgive me for not getting my hopes up."

A thump from the stairs, simultaneously paired with a cheery, "Hey guys!"

The balloon pinched in between Lucas's fingers hisses, air releasing from its insides as Lucas jumps comically, letting out a feeble 'fuck' at Sofiane's voice suddenly making an appearance in the room. 

It starts off small. A cough at first, a stifled choke, when finally, they look at one another and burst out laughing. Tear inducing, clutch at your belly type laughs that echo, bouncing off the walls, emanating into the air until it almost rang with the resultant vibrations. It's too much to handle standing up, so they plop right onto the floor, eyes watering and stomachs on the brink of aching. Sofiane looks on confused until Imane comes downstairs to check out the commotion, luring him away when she sees the source.

When the laughter subsides, Lucas looks at him fondly, smiling sadly as he whispers, "What happened to us Eliott?"

Truthfully, he doesn't know. All his excuses that felt so valid at the beginning fall flat now. 

"If you asked me back in high school, I could have given you a hundred different variations," Eliott admits, "Now, I'm not so sure anymore."

"Where do we go from here?"

"I don't know," Eliott replies honestly, "Let's just take it day by day," adding on lightly, "Minute by minute."

"I wish this," Lucas says, referring to the space around them, "Happened sooner."

"Me too," Eliott agrees wistfully, "In another life."

"In a parallel universe."

"I can't believe you still think that shit is real."

"I can't believe you don't."

Eliott gets the call about his offer for the internship while packing the remnants of his belongings still littering his dorm room floor, accepting verbally on the spot and digitally signing the contract he receives via email a few days later.

In two days time from Idriss's party, he'll graduate with honours, walking across a stage that felt so out of reach four years ago, permanent job in the bag, loving girlfriend at his side, family and friends cheering him on as he crossed the bridge from student to adult, the former title providing a protective shield from the latter crumbling away with the obtainment of a piece of paper. Lucas and him had tentatively come to an understanding, not quite friends, but definitely not strangers. Life was good.

Life was good, and he'd be okay, Eliott thinks, trying to reassure no one else more than himself.

* * *

 

 

_ages 26 and 28_

 

"What is it, Imane?"

"Hm?" She hums innocently, passing him another dish to dry, ignoring his question. Weekend dinners at Sofiane and Imane's apartment had become somewhat of a tradition when Eliott moved in two floors above them. Often times Idriss would amble over as well, dessert in the form of fruit platters or cake from the bakery down the road with the best croissants and iced coffee in hand. 

It was a routine Eliott welcomed wholeheartedly after apartment hopping for the past year post breaking up with Lucille and subsequently quitting his internship turned glorified secretarial role. While leaving, both the relationship and the job, had been a relief, sensing that all the growth to be done with his former employer (and Lucille, he supposes) had already taken place and it was time to move on, not having a steady income was worrisome. His savings were substantial but gradually petering out, giving way to smaller spaces and fewer luxuries. 

He tried to throw himself into work, writing, rewriting, finishing and trashing scripts, editing raw footage until his fingers cramped and throbbed. Nothing panned out, and each time he was left a little more frustrated and a little more closer to giving up and taking the next job he was offered.

Dreaming was nice, but his present reality couldn't afford to include the notion within it.

His lease on this place would last five more months. A little less than half a year to find his footing before he'll have to downgrade once again. 

"You've been staring at me on and off for like twenty minutes," he implores, using the towel to mop up the moisture on the plate before placing it on the top shelf of the cabinet above him, "Just spit it out."

"Okay, fine!" She throws up her hands in frustration, at getting caught or for having to explain he can't tell, "But I don't know if it's good news or bad news."

"Am I going to find out eventually?"

"Yes," she says definitively, "Very soon, to be exact."

Eliott looks at her expectantly as she wavers, trying to be patient but failing, "Well?"

"Alright!" Imane concedes, proceeding carefully as she says her next words, "Lucas Lallemant is moving into the apartment next door to you."

He attempts to play it off, as if the prospect of being neighbours with Lucas again doesn't make his insides start to do funny things, "That's it?"

Imane raises her eyebrows in disbelief, his bland response inciting her to shut the faucet off, crossing her arms across her chest, rubber gloves and all, "Really? You're totally fine with this?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Eliott lies, "Lucas can live wherever he wants. I shouldn't get in the way of that," tapping his fingertips on the edge of the granite counter, "Besides, we made up. Kind of."

"Spare me the drama Eliott," she sighs, "I don't know the whole story, but I'm glad things worked out. I was worried I'd have to be a witness to a murder trial with the way you guys acted around each other before."

"We weren't that bad," he says disgruntled, hesitating at the 'give me a break' look Imane radiates with a flash of her eyes alone, "Were we?"

"You were," she confirms, "But I believe it when you say you two are good now. Otherwise Lucas wouldn't have said yes to moving in when I recommended the place to him either."

"Lucas said yes, knowing I lived next door?"

"Did I not just say that?" 

Move in day is uneventful. Eliott has an interview that he immediately gets rejected from once he lets it slip that he considered the job a placeholder until he found his true calling. No real losses there, it's not like he really wanted it anyway. Even though the paycheque might have been a nice security blanket.

He should get in touch with the contact at his old company again. The benefits of not cutting ties like he initially wanted to was that he had a referral for life. Making a mental note to himself to send him an email or give him a quick phone call, he heads back home, gets ready for his weekly dinner at Imane and Sofiane's, and locks up his house, back bumping hard into a warm body heading the same way as him. The sound of the impact and resounding 'oof' that originates from behind him already makes him feel sorry for the nose getting injured in the ordeal. 

"You alright?"

The words die on his lips when he recognizes the victim.

Lucas smiles, wincing in pain, "Hey Eliott, fancy bumping into you here. Literally."

Eliott snorts, in spite of it all, "Good thing your humour's still intact," he trails, "Don't know if I can say the same thing about your nose though."

"Shit, is it bleeding?"

"Nah, nothing like that," Eliott reassures him, "But it does look a little bruised. You want a bag of peas or something?"

"I'll be alright."

"Oh yeah, I forgot," Eliott says, remembering how Imane said Lucas was completing his residency nearby. He recalls something from a conversation with Mme Lallemant last month as well, but he tended to zone out whenever she brought up Lucas.

"Worse comes to worse you can always reset it yourself right? Is that allowed by the way? Doctors resetting their own noses?"

"Theoretically I guess," Lucas concedes, "Can't imagine it being very pleasant though."  

There's a moment where they're both a little starstruck. They'd parted on good terms the last time they met, but as fate and chance would have it, didn't see each other again until now.

Lucas gives him a once over, attempts at being low key drastically failing, "Wow," Lucas continues, raking his gaze over him, "Eliott Demaury."

"Lucas Lallemant."

"What?"

"Oh, we aren't saying each other's names just for the hell of it?”

Lucas shoves him playfully, chuckling, "Same old Eliott."

"Wait," Eliott says, thought occurring to him, "Are you going upstairs to Imane and Sof's place as well?"

"Yeah," Lucas looks surprised as he answers affirmatively, "I thought you knew. I mean, Imane told me you were coming."

"No idea," Eliott says, "Consider me thoroughly surprised."

"A nice surprise, I hope?"

"There's no such thing as bad surprises," Eliott replies overgeneralizing, "I like surprises. And I like people who are surprising."

Dinner is a subdued affair. Imane too tired to cook following a shift at the hospital, crashes early after picking up dinner on the way home, Moroccan food from a restaurant her and Sofiane frequented. Sofiane follows at her heels shortly after, claiming tiredness, but Eliott knows it's because in between his work hours and Imane's demanding residency requirements the two barely got to see each other outside of sleeping in the same bed together at night. And who was he to infringe on that?

"Want to go for a walk?" he asks Lucas, after Sofiane gives him the extra key to lock up.

"Lead the way."

They take Eliott's favourite route, one he presumes would have been perfect to bike on if he had space and the energy to carry one all the way up his three floor walk up. 

"This reminds me of when we used to bike around everywhere in the old neighbourhood," Lucas comments, echoing his thoughts, "Except without the bikes."

"So basically nothing like it."

Lucas flips him off, following it up with a laugh, "Yeah, I guess you're right. But the company's just as good as it was back then."

"Wish I could say the same."

"Wow," Lucas replies flabbergasted, "The years haven't been good for your ego, have they?

He chuckles in response, shrugging as he habitually avoided the cracks in the sidewalk, "Unfortunately. But it seems like time did you a lot of favours. You look like you're happy."

"Happy is so subjective isn't it?" Lucas asks rhetorically, "I thought I'd be happy as soon as I got into med school, and when I wasn't, I was sure it would happen when I started working as an actual doctor." 

"And now?"

"Take a guess."

"Not happy?"

"Not happy," he pauses to clear his throat, arm brushing against Eliott's as they continued to walk, "I know I sound ungrateful."

"I get it."

"Do you?"

"Yeah, I do," Eliott tries to formulate the words in his head before speaking them aloud, "It's like," he starts, "You're surrounded by all these people who love you. You know they love you, but at the same time there's this voice telling you at the back of your mind that they don't. That you're not worth it and you deserve to be alone."

"And slowly, without even realizing it," he finishes, "You are." 

"Alone in a room full of people."

"Exactly," Eliott says approvingly, "It's like your dilemma as well. You should be happy, you want to be happy, you have everything that you think would make you happy, and yet-"

"Not happy?" Lucas supplements, grinning as he finishes his sentence.

The tail end of the route is in sight, their building peering out above tall trees, making itself known.

"Did you ever go back to La Petite Ceinture?" Lucas poses without warning, clarifying "After transferring schools, I mean."

"No I didn't," Eliott responds curtly, not in the mood to expand further, curiousity gaining the best of him as he returned, "What about you?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"It wasn't the same without you."

The cicadas are in full swing tonight, chirping and buzzing up a summer storm. The wind is humid, causing their shirts to stick uncomfortably to their bodies. Yet, neither of them are in a hurry to go back inside. Eliott takes a mental picture of this moment in his head, praying it will stick. Then, he remembers cell phones are a thing and pulls his out, gesturing at Lucas to get in front of it and pose with him.

"But I'm all sweaty! So are you, by the way."

"That's okay," he says, "I want to remember this moment exactly as it is."  
  
Being neighbours with Lucas as adults was similar to when they were kids, but at the same time, totally unique. Gone were the days of ringing on the doorbell and hoping someone would be home. Nowadays, they would just text one another spontaneously to devise a plan and head out within the hour, unlike their excursions as children where they had to be organized well in advance. They no longer had to ask for their parents' permission to go over to each other's houses, it was kind of an unspoken rule.

When Lucas had day shifts at the hospital, Eliott would come over to his place to share takeout, talk about nothing, and spend the night stargazing on the rooftop accessible via the fire escape from Lucas's corner suite. Lucas would often fall asleep, exhausted from his long shifts, head fitting just right on top of Eliott's shoulder. Eliott would gently prod him awake when the hour turned late, knowing that the only thing prohibiting Lucas from collapsing during work was sleeping in an actual bed the night before.

There were no bikes involved, but eventually, Lucas and him grew close enough, or close enough once more, if he was being completely accurate, to run errands like doing groceries together, or simply taking a stroll around the complex after eating too much dim sum from the Chinese restaurant they typically ordered from.

In time that feels like it passes in a blink of an eye, or within the expanse of a finger snap, months pass. Eliott still has no job, his lease expires in twenty four days, but things between Lucas and him truly feel like they are back to normal.  
  
"Come over to my place," Eliott offers, one night after a particularly long day for both Lucas and himself, "There's not a ton of food, but there is a lot of beer."

"How about the best of both worlds?" Lucas counterproposes, "I ordered a pizza like ten minutes ago. Large so I'd have leftovers," smirking, "I guess I can give up the half I was going to keep for breakfast. Feeding the hungry is a noble cause."

Eliott laughs, suggests without mulling over how it sounded, "Just stay the night and I'll make you breakfast. I have enough eggs to feed the whole floor."

"Uh- I mean, if you want," Eliott amends hastily, cringing as he averted his gaze to the ground. The damage was done.

"That actually sounds really good," Lucas replies, causing Eliott to snap his head back up, "Like when we were kids remember? I'd stay over at your place when Mama was at the hospital."

"Of course I remember," Eliott says, "You wouldn't shut up about M. Boucher's vendetta against you, even though we all knew it was a given after you showed up late to almost every one of his classes."

"That man wanted to see me fail," Lucas swears, "And I will attest to that for the rest of my life."

"Is it really that serious?"

"Do you want pizza or not?"

"You're the best, and M. Boucher is an asshole," he states solemnly, "See you in ten?"

The apartment smells like weed and alcohol and greasy cheese. He'll have to crack open a window during the night if he wants to air out the smell, which individually stratified weren't horrible, not the best, tolerable at most, but emulsified in one cohesive scent made Eliott want to throw up. He probably would have if Lucas wasn't here.

They're lounging on his bed now, having shifted from living room to bedroom in the fell swoop of a couple hours. Questions over whether they should go to the roof, why they didn't just go there in the first place, it would have stopped the rancid smell from permeating into their skin and clothes. Somewhere, in the back of his compromised mind. Eliott rationalizes, using his clouded judgement to arrive at the conclusion that if the house smelled gross, and they smelled gross, then technically everything smelled gross and nothing actually really smelled.

Lucas agrees heartily, raising his bottle up in a cheers motion, taking a swig, and leaning back into the pillows he'd rested against the metal bed frame.

The record player stopped playing around twenty minutes ago, fizzling out after one of his favourite dubstep tracks Lucas wasted no time on criticizing.

"That's six songs," Lucas chimes in.

 _Shit,_ he thinks, _did I say that out loud?_

"You did," Lucas says shrugging, "I'm just saying, if you got up twenty minutes ago, we could have listened to six more songs than we did already."

"But then I would have lost six whole seconds with you from getting up and changing the record," Eliott counters, "Perspective, _baby_." 

"Yeah right," Lucas snorts, "You don't want to get up at all from here, do you?"

Eliott props himself straighter against the bed frame, observing Lucas's relaxed form as he takes another extended drag from the joint, "Do you?"

"No," Lucas responds, challenging Eliott with his own stare, "I'm good here."

"Good."

Lucas is still the first one to cave, nervously looking away, at the wall, ceiling, floor, anywhere Eliott wasn't, "Your symptoms," Lucas asks, changing the subject, "How are they now?"

"The same," Eliott mentions offhandedly, taking the joint from Lucas's hand, "Looks like you made the right call, avoiding me."

"That's not funny."  
  
"You're right, it's just the truth."

"I wish you wouldn't do that."

"Do what?"

"Act like you're not worth it."

"Worth what, Lucas?"

"I don't know," Lucas admits, pondering before he lists off, "Time, effort, compassion," looking at his lap as he says the last one, "Love." 

Eliott almost does a double take, wondering if it's the alcohol or the weed messing with his head. 

But as messed up as he knows he can get from either or, he knows his mind wouldn't conjure up something like this. He refuses to believe the universe would be that cruel to people who are generally good. 

Lucas's lips part, an invitation Eliott is more than happy to oblige. He looks to his eyes, looking for the tiniest hint of apprehension. 

He finds none.

And when Lucas's lips finally meet his own, every cliche, fireworks, butterflies and the alike, prove inadequate. There's no comparison, no measurement that encompasses the breadth of what he feels in this minute. To quantify it would be blasphemous, for how could one quantify something so boundless?  
  
The static buzz of the record player emanates, bouncing off the walls of his flat. He should probably turn it off, he thinks.  
  
"I should turn that off."  
  
Lucas gazes at him dumbfounded, hair tousled, lips and jaw reddened from the friction Eliott's stubble imparted on his skin, "Huh?" He questions blearily, and Eliott can't help himself from kissing him again, deeper, tongues and teeth and all.  
  
The night is reminiscent of the ones they spent together in their youth, far less innocent in comparison, but Eliott has already memorized the contours of Lucas's body, committed them to memory, and it feels intimate, nostalgic and familiar in the best type of way.  
  
It feels like home.  
  
Eliott wakes up to a note, 'early start, had to leave', comes back from work and stops at Lucas's place first, telling himself that he probably fell asleep at the hospital when no one answers the door. Or ended up getting assigned a 48-hour shift. That had happened ample times in the past few months since Lucas started living here too. Then again, all of this could be resolved if Lucas texted or called to let him know he was still breathing.  
  
However, he can only suspend his doubts to a certain point. By the fourth day when he returns home and Lucas is still nowhere to be found, he realizes he's being ghosted.

"Hey." 

He's seeing Lucas after almost a whole week, especially odd considering they live right next to one another, only for him to simply reply, "Sorry Eliott, I'm kind of busy-"

"This will only take a second."

"I'm going to be late for work."

"Since when have you cared about being late?"

"Since I grew up?" Lucas says, a touch snidely, "Not everyone can afford to live off Mommy and Daddy's money," immediately looking regretful.

"Sorry, I didn't mean that. I'm just tired."

"Don't apologize," Eliott says, "Just explain to me what's wrong."

"What do you mean?" He asks impatiently, tapping the sole of his shoe up and down on the carpeted hallway.

Eliott scoffs, "You always do this," he says, "You always go after the guys you can't have. It's like you're trying to get your heart broken."

"And then when someone genuinely likes you back, you run away. I swear, loving you is like playing tag," he laughs weakly, "Except, it's neverending, and I'm tired of running."

"Lucas," Eliott pleads, Lucas's gaze remaining static on the lock of his door, as he fiddles with his keys, "Look at me, please."

"I'm here," he says, imploring the other man, "I'm not leaving. You got me."

Lucas glances up, "You say that now but-" he pauses, "But everyone leaves eventually."

"I'm not your father."

"What does he have to do with any of this?"

"I know that's why you're afraid. Of people leaving you," Eliott says, latching onto the other man's hand. 

There's a lull where neither of them move. Lucas's hand is slightly clammy against his colder one, grip lax but there. There until it's not. 

"It's not my dad, Eliott," he says resentfully, "It's you. You left me. And after the other night, you're probably just going to do it again."

"That- That doesn't make any sense. I would never leave you. You left me. You always leave first."

"Eliott stop! It was you who left first," Lucas exclaims, blazing, "You left, and the next time I saw you was at that fucking coffee shop on campus, by accident! After no contact for five years. Five fucking years Eliott, when I had no idea where you were, whether or not you were even alive. How can you expect me to believe you after that?”

"I-"

"I have to go," Lucas mumbles, removing his hand from Eliott's grasp, locks his door, shutting it firmly, and walks towards the stairs without a glance back.

Eliott watches him go for the second time in his life, and if possible, this time, knowing  it was because of him, hurts even more.

"Eliott?" 

There's a knock on the door, before it opens. He probably forgot to lock it.

"In here."

"Hey man," Sofiane emerges from the hallway, slinking his way into Eliott's bedroom, "Haven't heard from you in a couple days. Is everything okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Are you sure? Because I can-"

It's probably because of the rumpled sheets, the clothes he hasn't changed out of in almost four days, his hair that's matted and greasy, lying flat, or maybe it's a little bit of everything.

"Sof, for gods sake, I'm not having an episode every time I get a little depressed."

"I know."

Eliott sighs, forcing himself to sit up in bed, "And I know you know," apologizing, "I didn't mean to snap."

"Yeah, I know,” Sofiane reassures him, asking carefully, “Is this about Lucas?"

"It's always the same shit, different day, with him," Eliott responds bitterly, "I guess different year at this point. Milestone maybe. It should be a statutory holiday, or like a leap year type of thing. You know, because he only comes around once in four years and manages to fuck everything up before disappearing for another four.

Sofiane is quiet throughout his tirade, sitting down next to him on the bed, "I hate seeing you like this."

Eliott rests his head in the crook of Sofiane's neck, the warmth that radiates from him is soothing, calms him down, but at the same time makes the tears flare up again, "Thank you, for being here." 

"Come stay with us for a couple of days," Sofiane says, "Tomorrow's Saturday anyway, so you would've been over for dinner regardless. Imane and I would love to have you."

His lease ends in a week. If he knows Sofiane at all, a couple of days translated to whatever he needs. But, even with his friend's offer, he still had a mountain's worth of belongings to sort and pack up. The bulk of it would be directed towards a storage unit, while his basics, toiletries, a few of his favourite outfits and his physical portfolio, all of which he would limit to the confines of his compact carry on suitcase that helped him brave through most of his travels. 

As he opens the closet where he keeps loose leaf papers, ideas he'd penned without his sketchbook or laptop in arms reach, they tumble out all at once, scattering around the floor.

He picks up a piece of paper, tears it into threes, violently, haphazardly. The shards fall to the ground in slow motion, almost going up before going down.

One step forward and two steps back. 

With Lucas, it had always been one step forward and two steps back.

He breaks.

Eliott rips papers one by one, sometimes stacking them up together and using all his strength to shred them into unidentifiable scraps. There's so much anger inside him, so much hurt, so much sadness, and he feels it drain out, drop by drop, with every tear, every rip, and every strip of paper that hits the ground without fanfare, mutely. There's one remaining, left at the bottom of the heap, the handwriting on it significantly more childish, straight lines instead of the curved shapes Eliott had adapted once he realized how much speedier it was to take notes that way.

He lifts up the storyboard by its corners delicately, faded and vastly unprofessional compared to the work he did even at the humble beginnings of his career. He'd tossed it aside after his first episode, not wanting to look or think about anything serving as a reminder of it.

Seeing it for the first time in so long ignites something in him. And so, he does the same thing he does whenever his thoughts start flowing more rapidly than his brain is able to process them. He sits down on his desk, the one he'll probably have to ship off to his parents given the size of the storage unit he's rented, pulls out a fresh sheet of paper, and places his original storyboard on top as a reference.

Then, he writes. He writes words dictating a story about two characters, how they can't be together because they're both inherently afraid of each other's respective worlds. Except, this time it takes place in a tunnel, where one character resides within it and the other communicates with the former from outside. One is afraid of the dark, the other afraid of the light. They talk every day, get to know one another, and eventually end up falling in love, without meeting even once, until one of them conquers their fear and decides to venture into the other's world. 

The mindblock on his brain lifts, and Eliott takes advantage of it. He scrawls dialogue and narration that smudges from the speed at which he's writing being faster than the time it takes for the pen to dry. He jots notes and sketches pictures until the joints in his fingers tense, a papercut scratching it's way onto his palm. He doesn't care. The pain is nothing compared to the overwhelming need to get his ideas down on paper before they evaporate into thin air. 

And, when it comes time to decide on who the two characters are, he's still him. The boy, afraid of the dark, afraid of himself, but the other one, the one who he involuntarily and subconsciously always envisioned as Lucas is now,

Nobody. 

It's who the audience wants them to be. Him, her, it. 

He loves Lucas.

He'd come to that startling realization a long time ago, and he doubts that he'd ever stop loving him.  

But, when it came down to it, Lucas didn't love him. Or, at least he didn't love him enough. Polaris wasn't about a specific person so much as it was about his journey. Keeping one of the characters ambiguous would not only help its audience connect better with the narrative, but it was also healthier for him.

He loves Lucas. Probably always will. But slowly, he was also learning how to love himself. And if that meant forgetting about someone who caused him to feel so shitty all the time, surely it was worth a shot. 

Eliott laughs, the sound coming out slightly deranged before it turns sorrowful, tears streaming down his face without any audible weeping accompanying it.

It's done. Years that felt like eternities had to pass, but he finally, finally finished it.

He never understood why his father felt so strongly about a car, the rugged old Toyota whose seats started to smell when they weren't washed periodically, the constantly falling rear view mirrors that his father would stubbornly mend with the aid of duct tape. It was his baby, and Eliott thinks the reason he finally gets it now is because Polaris is his ugly Toyota. His baby. No matter what happened in the future, the number of awards he was honoured with or the failures he encountered, this would be his life time's work. 

But what was the point?

Two weeks into sleeping on Imane and Sofiane's couch, one of Eliott's contacts connects him with an overseas recruiter hiring for a filming crew in need of extra hands. It's temporary, a contract position, but he takes it anyway, gets on a flight to Scandinavia, and never looks back. 

He doesn't touch Polaris again until years and a lengthy hiatus later.

* * *

 

 

 

_ages 33 and 35_

  
  
Eliott stared at his reflection in the mirror, almost not recognizing the man who looked back. Somewhere in between university, his first real job, and getting hired as an assistant director for a critically and commercial successful film, nearly a decade had come and gone by. Long gone were the days of fruitlessly pining after a dream that felt like it would never take off. Nights where he survived off of 75 cent ramen in cramped apartments with multiple roommates that savings from his assistant's salary could afford him. 

Quitting his job wasn't an easy decision, and what followed proved to be a struggle that molded the foundation of his future, life and career. It made him determined to make it, refusal to move back in with his parents driving him to work harder, harder than he ever had, and finally, he landed the opportunity to direct a short film, barely twenty minutes not including the credits, for a small indie production company, a healthy portfolio from his freelancing and referral from his former boss paving the rest of the way. It did the numbers the backers required to break even, and impressed critics enough to get screened at multiple film festivals, securing him a spot on a famous media publication's 'Directors to Watch Out For' list and a place in diehard moviegoers' hearts. 

So, it only made sense with his professional life taking off for him to put some effort towards furthering his personal.

"Ready to go?" His father chimes, peeking his head through the door of one of two rooms designated for soon to be spouses to get ready at the venue. A venue handpicked by the wedding planner he spared no expense at hiring for an event way more extravagant than he'd pictured.

"Just about," he replies, smiling at him embarrassed as he gesturing at his tie, "Got a second? I could use a hand."

His dad gives him an 'are you for real' look, shaking his head affectionately as he approaches, "You know," he says, handling the tie with care as he crosses and loops it over itself, "I was never really any good at this kind of stuff either. It was always your Mama who took care of it."

"Honestly, I don't think Lucille would be any better."

Lucille. They had reunited at a mutual friend's party about a year back, and what followed was a whirlwind romance starting with an unprecedented reconciliation and finished with a marriage proposal. Said marriage proposal was met with shock and concern, in that order, from both friends and family. Idriss and Sofiane gave their cautious congratulations after being on the receiving end of an outburst by Eliott that he was not particularly proud of. His parents initial reaction was bombarding him with questions and worry fueled comments like 'Are you sure?', 'It hasn't been long since you started dating', 'Why not opt for a long engagement instead?', ones he refuted vehemently.

They may have started dating seriously recently, but it's not like this was his and Lucille's first time being in a relationship together. Once upon a time, Eliott had considered her somebody who understood him like no one else did or ever could.

This wasn't a decision made on a whim. Eliott could see how it might appear that way, but it felt right. With the way his life was going, the direction it was headed in, it only made sense for this to come next. 

"Done," his dad says, "Your Mama would approve."

"Funny," Eliott replies sarcastically.

"If you're done here, your fiancee is getting antsy out there."

"On my way."

One final primp in the mirror, a sweep of a hand adjusting a lock of hair that strayed from it's gelled in place position, and a steady breath in and out. 

He steps out of the room, catching sight of Lucille, who mouths a 'help me' upon making eye contact, stuck in a conversation with an annoying aunt in a loud red dress that she'd warned him about beforehand. He starts to walk over, fully intending on rescuing her, when a man in a charcoal suit and blue eyes that ruined him since the day they met stops him in his tracks. 

"You made it," Eliott says flatly.

He invited Lucas out of pure loyalty to his mother and Mme Lallemant, the former who loved Lucas like her own son, the latter who'd become a grounding force and confidant for him following his diagnosis. It never occurred to him that he would actually show up. Especially not with a plus once, considering Imane didn't even hint at him being in a relationship. He gives the guy attached to Lucas's side a once over, an inch taller than Eliott with curly wisps of blonde hair, and tries not to seethe with jealousy.

Lucas looks at him hesitantly, "Yeah," he says, "I managed to switch shifts with one of the other residents."

"Listen Eliott," Lucas starts, "Do you have a second to talk? In private?"

"Sorry, can't-" shrugging in response, "Duty calls." He excuses himself, not bothering to wait for an introduction to Lucas's date, returning to his fiancee's side where he belonged, welcoming the other guests steadily filling up the hall.

He's able to avoid Lucas for the rest of the night, well past the speeches and the food, the rehearsal for tomorrow winding to a close with a final song, a slow one enticing all the couples present to the dance floor. He offers a hand to Lucille, playing every part of the devoted husband to be, praying that if he tries hard enough he'll be able to convince himself it's true.

The ballad's reached it's last lines, singer crooning sweet nothings as they sway along, Lucille laying her head on his chest and murmuring, "I love you, Eliott."

_I could love you too._

It'd be so easy, so inevitable. It'd fit every fantasy version of this moment that he had imagined, the life he'd envisioned for himself, a reflection of the example set by his parents, devoted, passionate, tender,

Except, he doesn't reply, choosing instead to respond to her declaration by easing her head onto his shoulder, the cool fabric of his tuxedo contrasting with the warm skin of Lucille's forehead.

This, it felt right. Lucille made him content. With her, everything was light, the ground he walked on a cloud, air around him tasting sugary sweet, like the granules of cotton candy that stuck to the roof of your mouth before dissolving. Unlike Lucas. 

Complicated, disarming and frustrating Lucas, who made his blood boil and heart melt separately and all at once. Lucas, who consumed his thoughts and gave him heart palpitations with his beautiful smile and soft spoken words.

Lucas, who held his gaze across the dance floor, hands clasped around his date's waist, but attention focused on Eliott. 

His breath hitches, unable to break eye contact. Both refusing to be the first one to cave, even when the song came to an end, rousing them out of their stupor.

"Hey," Eliott says, breaking away from Lucille, "I'll be right back."

"You alright?" 

"Yeah!" Eliott replied, a tad too enthusiastically, before repeating, this time more composed, "Yes, I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"It's just a little hot in here," he says, hand waving in a fanning motion at his face to emphasize his point, "I'll go freshen up and be right back."

"Think you'll survive without me?" Eliott asks playfully, so as to not worry her.

She lightens at that, laughing softly, "I think I can manage," she answered dryly, pressing a kiss to his cheek, letting him go.

He makes it to the bathroom, albeit taking more time than it usually would, accepting congratulations and exchanging hurried greetings with the guests he encountered on the way. 

"What was that in there?" Lucas almost yells, cornering Eliott into the junction by the last sink.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he responds brusquely, detouring around the other man to make a speedy exit.

"That's just it," he retorted, grabbing Eliott's arm, preventing him from running away, "You know exactly what I'm talking about."

"Let me go."

"Not until you tell me what that was."

"I don't know, okay?" Eliott exclaims, wringing his hands in his hair, "I have no idea what that was, and quite frankly I don't want to try and figure it out either."

"So that's it? You don't want to bother with it so I guess we just drop it."

"Oh, that's rich," Eliott says mockingly, "Especially coming from you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're the one who came here with a date! Why do you even care?"

"Date?" Lucas asks confusedly, realization dawning a split second later, "Isak? He's just a colleague from work! I asked him to be my plus one," tacking on, "Him and his boyfriend are very happy together, and have been for a long time."

Throughout the tirade, their bodies found a way to gravitate towards one another, as they always had, as Eliott suspected they always would. Lucas's breath felt hot on his face, the man's face inching towards his closer until his eyes fell to Eliott's lips. If he leaned forward, just a little bit, they'd be kissing. Cheeks flushed and pupils dark, Lucas continued to move closer, the anger marring his expression dissipating to make way for another. The same one Eliott remembers from the night they spent at his place together, the last time, he thinks, it would ever happen.

Lucas doesn't need to say 'I love you' for him to know it. And Eliott doesn't have to reciprocate verbally for both of them to know that he feels the same.

But, this was wrong. From every angle, any perspective, this wasn't right.   
  
Eliott looks away, backing away, acknowledging the unspoken words, "People go on to live whole lives without the person they love."  
  
"And I'm saying," Lucas pleads, "You don't have to," he grabs one of Eliott's hands, grasping it between both of his.  
  
"I know you love me," Lucas declares, with so much confidence, so much surety, that if it wasn't for the panic-stricken way his pupils shook anyone would mistake it for arrogance.  
  
And it's not like Eliott can deny it. He's lied to Lucas before, once in the span of a lifetime still ongoing, and he wasn't about to do it twice.  
  
"I- I do," Eliott admits shakily, "I do," he repeats wavering, eyes watery as he eases out of Lucas's grip, "But I can't do what you're asking me to, Lucas. You have to understand."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Lucille, for starters," Eliott starts frustrated, "She's waiting for me out there! So is my family, our families, friends, I can't-" he cuts off, inhaling deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose.  
  
Eliott stands up from the couch, putting enough distance between the pair so he's not tempted to latch onto the other man, someone he had once considered his best friend, the love of his life, "I can't leave," he finishes sadly, "As much as I want to. As much as I wish I could."  
  
Lucas leaps out of his seated position, stalking over to where Eliott stood, halting in front of him, "Eliott, with all due respect," he says, "Fuck them. Fuck everyone."  
  
"What about you?" Lucas asks, cradling Eliott's face, forcing the taller man to look at him, "In this moment, in this minute, what do you want?"  
  
There's a sharp intake of breath, neither sure where it came from. The words take on the cadence of a memory, one Eliott had long pushed to the recesses of his mind, that brought on an onslaught of emotions and long forgotten recollections. Glaring, he replies, "Don't use my words against me like that Lucas," Eliott whispers harshly, "That's not fair."  
  
"None of this is fair," Lucas says, "Not to me, not to you. Especially not to you."   
  
Lucas lets go of his face, lowering his hands to Eliott's own once again, taking them slowly, interlacing their fingers together, "I'm sorry it took me five minutes before you started the rest of your life to realize it. I'm sorry for a lot of things, I'm so fucking sorry, you have no idea," he apologizes furtively, squeezing Eliott's hand tighter, the ring on the latter's finger digging uncomfortably.  
  
"I'm not a good person, far from it,"  
  
"That's not tru-" Eliott begins to protest.  
  
"And this is why I don't deserve you," Lucas interrupts before Eliott can argue, "Or a second chance. Or an eighth, at this point I'm guessing," he chuckles halfheartedly, running a trembling hand through his hair.  
  
"You're such a good person Eliott. You might be the best person I know. And I know- I know I don't deserve it, but I'm asking you to give me that eighth chance," Lucas says determinedly, "To prove to you, for the rest of my life, or as long as you'll have me, that we're worth whatever you have to do in the next couple of minutes."  
  
"That's just it though, isn't it?" Eliott says, releasing himself from Lucas's hold, crossing his arms, "It's always me having to fight for us. Me who has to deal with whatever bullshit you decide to spring-"   
  
"That's not what I meant and you know it!"  
  
"But it's exactly what you're doing!" Eliott shouts back, "Lucille and I, we didn't decide on this lightly. It's been a long time coming, something we've put a lot of thought into. You think you can come here with your big speech and change my mind about a decision as big as this?"  
  
He can. It does.  
  
But he's not going to give Lucas the satisfaction of knowing that.  
  
"Eliott, listen to yourself," Lucas cries out, "If something takes you that long to think about, that long to decide on, is it really something you wanted to do in the first place?"  
  
"Just- just tell me you don't want me," he manages to stutter out, "Tell me that, and I'll go."  
  
"I don't want you."  _Of course I do_.  
  
"I don't believe that," Lucas retorts, narrowing his eyes, "I don't believe you."

"You don't have to," Eliott compromises, gesturing between the two of them, "It doesn't matter. This, us, it can't happen. Not now."

 _Not ever_ , he wants to say, he should say. He owes that much to everyone waiting on him outside.

"You don't mean that?" 

The disheartened look on Lucas's face transforms at the ensuing silence, determination taking over, perceiving Eliott's lack of response as uncertainty, "You're right," he reveals, "I was afraid before. Of being left alone. God you're always right about me and its so fucking annoying until it's not-"

"It's too late," he interrupts him mid sentence, not sure he can withstand prolonging this confrontation, "I'm sorry." 

"Thank you for coming," Eliott continues robotically, distancing himself, "I'm glad you're here."

 _Even if it's not the way I wanted you to be_.

"Eliott-" 

"Please, Lucas," he begs, the doorknob halfway turned, ready for his exit from the bathroom, which, in spite of its spaciousness, is suffocating, "Not right now. And I would appreciate if you don't bring this up again."

And for once, Lucas listens. 

He doesn't see him again during the rehearsal. The next day Lucas is nowhere to be found at the wedding, and the next week, Eliott is jetting off to his honeymoon in Morroco before he flies out to Hollywood, where he desperately tries not to think about the few minutes it would have taken to change the trajectory of his life forever. 

* * *

 

 

_ages 40 and 42_

 

"Eliott?"

He didn't want to believe it. 

There was always a chance of this happening. Paris was a big city, but following his initial fret over Lea, the doctor on call dispelling his fears about any serious injuries and setting her arm in cast, he couldn't help his mind from wandering to the possibility, slight as it was, that he'd bump into the boy, a man now, from his past he couldn't seem to forget. No matter how much he wanted to, no matter how hard he tried. 

Idriss kept him in the loop, regardless of how much he told him he didn't care. Eliott knows he bagged a fellowship at the same hospital Imane worked at after the conclusion of his residency at the smaller one near their old apartment building.

He doesn't want to chalk up coincidence to something as foolish as fate. But for him to be working at the exact moment when Eliott's daughter got hurt, at the hospital that just so happened to be closest to the park where she fell off the swing, for Eliott to be back home for a brief visit before jetting off to his next film site, and, for all those occurrences to align and collide, it feels a tad more for reasons much bigger than mere accident.

"Eliott," the doctor who called out his name repeated, half jogging to the waiting area from the reception desk where he'd previously been chatting with a nurse, "It's you right? Eliott Demaury?"  
  
"Lucas Lallemant," Eliott breathes out.  _Out of all the times, of all the places._  
  
"In the flesh," Lucas states, "Wow. I'm-" he laughs, hands shoving themselves nervously inside his lab coat, "What's it been, seven years?"  
  
"Just about."   
  
Silence.  
  
Lucas is the first one to disturb it, reaching out, pulling a still astonished Eliott into a friendly embrace. He hesitantly lifts his arms hug Lucas back, a second too late, as the other man is already retreating, mildly concerned as he assessed Eliott with a discerning once over, "Is everything okay?"  
  
Eliott realizes the context of the situation, him vaguely roughed up, bloodshot eyes from the tiredness and untamed hair sticking out in every other direction. He waves Lucas off, "Yeah- Yeah, I'm fine," he assures him, "It's my daughter actually."  
  
"Your daughter?"  
  
"Yeah," Eliott says, expression turning dreamy almost instantly, "Lea. She turned seven a couple months ago."

"Is she alright?"

"She's fine," Eliott says nonchalantly, adding, "Or, she will be. Broken arm."  
  
"It's good to see you," Lucas offers shyly, "Even if I wish it was under better circumstances." 

"How've you been?" he asks, the words sounding clunky and formal. How does a person you used to know better than yourself become a stranger?

"Fine," Lucas says, ignoring the buzzing of what Eliott assumes is his pager, "Patients keep me pretty busy here, so not a lot of time left for a personal life, but I enjoy it," he pauses, "What about you?"

He muses over what to disclose, how much of it was appropriate for small talk after almost a decade of no contact, "Same, except for the obvious differences," he says, "I imagine film making and medicine don't overlap very much."

"No," Lucas laughs, "Pretty sure you got the sweeter end of that deal," supplementing with, "I saw the film coverage for Polaris at Cannes, you were walking on the red carpet I think?"

"I was making rounds on a patient watching it on TV," Lucas narrates, "Wouldn't believe me when I said I knew the guy causing everyone at the festival's heads to turn barely three major films into his career." 

A brief flash of trepidation flares up across Lucas's face, treading cautiously as he continues, "I know it's none of my business, but I noticed Lucille wasn't with you?"

"How's she doing, by the way?

Eliott's heart soars. He figured it wouldn't, after all this time, after all the heartbreak. But hearing from the source of his inspiration, acknowledging his hard work,  he's only human. And as much as he wishes it wasn't true, that he was better than this, he was elated. But, he's not ready to acknowledge the matter of Lucille. Not yet.

Instead, he fixates on the vibrating pocket of Lucas's lab coat.

"Shouldn't you take care of that?"

Lucas, as if just realizing the incessant noise, startles, hastily checking his pager and letting out an exhale, "Yeah, I should." He returns it to his pocket, smiling, "It's good to see you Eliott," he repeats, echoing his words from earlier, "I'm glad you're happy."  
  
"I better get going," Lucas he continues regretfully, "Just have a couple hours of my shift left." 

"No worries."

"Say hi to Lucille for me," Lucas says, proceeding towards the elevator, "I'll see you around?"  
  
He almost doesn't say it.   
  
"Lucille and I separated," Eliott blurts out, stopping Lucas who turns around almost comically in response.

"It's been awhile, actually."  
  
The strides Lucas previously put between them, accumulating to create an insurmountable chasm, somehow seems to taper. He knows it's theoretically impossible, that they're at the same distance from one another as they were prior to Eliott's confession. Except, the wide smile surfacing on Lucas's face, one that Eliott can tell he's trying extremely hard to suppress, bridges the gap, along with Lucas backtracking to his original position.  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"Don't be," Eliott shrugs, "It was for the best. For all of us." He hesitates, wondering if it was appropriate, "Do you want to meet her? Lea, I mean."  
  
"Is that okay?"  
  
"Yeah," Eliott answers, surprised over how okay it actually was, "It is. I want you to."  
  
"Who are you going to introduce me as? The guy who almost ruined your wedding?" Lucas ponders out loud, jokingly.  
  
"Nope," Eliott affirms, "You're so much more than that," smirking, "You're also the guy who used Go Fish as a measure of intelligence." 

Lucas chortles at that, following Eliott as he led them in the direction of Lea's room. Eliott shoves his hands in his pocket, not sure what else to do with them as they walk, somewhat familiar, slightly awkward. 

"A friend," Eliott says abruptly as they stop outside the closed door of Lea's room, clarifying when Lucas looks at him confusedly, "If- When Lea asks. You're a friend."  
  
Lucas looks faintly disappointed, a flash of the emotion appearing momentarily in an almost imperceptible frown, causing his lips to curve downward, eyes dimming, before he perks up again, nudging Eliott's side playfully, "That's it?"  
  
"A good friend?"  
  
"Haha."  
  
_A good friend,_ he thinks _, my best friend._ At least at one point.

"I asked the doctor if it was okay to leave her here when I went to the bathroom," he explains, opening the door, beaming when he caught sight of the one good thing that came out of a marriage filled with so much bad, "Lea," he says, beckoning her over, "This is Papa's friend, Dr. Lallemant."

She hops off the bed, curiousity diminishing the wide smile she'd previously put on when her father entered the room. She stands tall, but Eliott can tell she's shy from the way her little hand grips his pant leg nervously.  
  
Lucas crouches to Lea's height, smiling affectionately, "Call me Lucas."  
  
Lea scrutinizes him, cocking her head to the side, "Papa says I have to call his friends Aunty and Uncle."  
  
"Uncle Lucas then."  
  
"Do you know how to play Go Fish?"  
  
"Know?" Lucas asks incredulously, "I'm the one who taught your Papa."  
  
"Papa never loses."

"I bet I can help with that."

"Do you want to play together?"

"Lea, Uncle Lucas needs to work," Eliott chides gently, "And we need to leave," gesturing at Lucas's pocket, "Your pager hasn't stopped ringing since we got in here."

Lucas's brow furrows, standing to his full height, "Right, that," he says, suggesting hopefully, "If you're still in town for awhile we should meet up again. Maybe outside of work?"

"I can't," Eliott replies, "I leave in two days, and tomorrow's my last with Lea before I have to drop her back at Lucille's."

"Oh," Lucas mumbles, visibly disheartened, "Well, I guess it wasn't meant to be."

He bends back down, offering his hand out to Lea, who reaches out almost instantly, "It was nice to meet you Lea. Take care of that arm, and next time we see each other I'll teach you every trick I know so that your Papa never wins a game against you again."

Lea giggles, shaking Lucas's hand enthusiastically, "Thanks, Uncle Lucas."

"Lucas," Eliott suddenly blurts, mouth speaking before his brain caught up, "Do you want to get dinner with me tonight?"

"Uh-" Lucas stammers, equally as shocked as Eliott probably looked right now, "Yeah, sure," adding dubiously, "Do you have enough time though?"

"We'll make it work," Eliott says, "For old time's sake."

"Alright," Lucas accepts slowly, eyes twinkling, smile resurfacing, "Then I'd love to."

Eliott passes Lucas his phone, instructing him to add his number and send his address, insisting on picking him up despite Lucas's protests, "I'll come by your place around 19:00. Is that okay?"

"Perfect," Lucas responds, handing the phone back, "I'll see you then."

They exchange goodbyes once more, Eliott wondering what he got himself into, why, after all this time he still hadn't learned. 

"Papa," Lea starts once Lucas's left the room, "Is Uncle Lucas the man with you in the photo on your desk?"

"Yeah Lea," he answers, "That's him."

He drops Lea off at Sofiane's place that night, conveniently en route to the address Lucas had provided him with. It's not shabby in the slightest, especially to Eliott, who's lived everywhere from luxury condominiums to roach infested studios. But, for a well established Parisian doctor in his forties to live here was a bit mystifying. His phone rings in the midst of his surveillance, Lucas's contact name appearing on the screen.

"I'm here," Lucas says, after they greet one another, "Downstairs in the lobby I mean. Where are you?"

"Fountain with the ugly looking raccoon statue."

"It's a lion."

"Since when do lions wear masks?"

"...I'm on my way." 

Lucas spots him immediately after exiting from the main entrance leading out front, climbing into the passenger seat beside him.

"A little shoddy for a hotshot doctor, no?" Eliott teases lightly as the man next to him buckles his seatbelt.

"Haha," Lucas shoots back sardonically, "It's enough. Why bother when I spend ninety percent of my time at work and come back to an empty house anyway?"

"Do you hear the violins playing in the background right now too?"

"Shut up."

It's close to 20:00 when they arrive at their destination, the crisp air picking up in speed and chill, making Eliott glad that he opted to pair his outfit with a long, thin coat. The sun has begun to fade in the background, ominously clouded grey, air feeling slightly thick, but not enough to suggest immediate outpour. He locks his car, self conscious as he feels Lucas's eyes on him from his peripheral, his own flitting in the other man's direction on the way between the parking lot and building entrenched in ivy and manufactured old world charm. Despite its appearance, the restaurant was barely a couple months into its establishment, a passion project by an old friend he'd met in Norway while onsite filming.  
  
"Wow," Lucas utters disbelievingly, "This is- Wow." He scans the landscape while Eliott checks in with the hostess, requesting a spot on the patio where he preferred to dine when he went out to eat, "This place probably books crazy fast. How'd you manage to snag a reservation?"

"I know the guy who owns the place."

"Of course you do," Lucas chuckles, shaking his head lightly as he follows Eliott lead outside to their table. 

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing bad," Lucas asserts, sitting down and skimming the menu, "Just, it's crazy to think the boy with a hard on for Captain Americagrew up to become rich and famous," adding on as Eliott rolls his eyes, "Not that I ever thought doubted he would."

"Nice save."

Lucas grins sheepishly, scanning the menu laid out in advance by the waiter, frowning, "Why are there no prices on this menu?"

"Don't worry about it."

"Eliott, stop," Lucas objects, "I might not be rich and famous, but I'm doing a lot better than I was back when- well you know when." 

"I believe that," Eliott remarks, "But you're my guest."

He doesn't say date.

He continues, "I asked you to come. Let me get this one."

"Alright, fine," Lucas relents, picking up the menu once again, "But next one's on me."

Dinner alternates between bites of food and mouthfuls of conversation. Catching up with Lucas felt like binging a favourite movie after a long time, the core intact within your memory, details fuzzy enough to facilitate for a entertaining rewatch, not a tedious deja vu moment. It made Eliott realize how much he missed him. Not just the obvious parts of Lucas, but also the effortless exchanges, hours spent in comfortable silence where their presences alone were enough for each other. 

"So Lea," Lucas prompts, twirling pasta onto his fork, "How does that work? With you being in and out of the country so often."

"Lea stays with Lucille for the most part," Eliott answers, slicing into his steak, "I get her for half of the holidays and when I have time off from work."

"That doesn't bother you?"  
  
"It's just the way things worked out, after the separation," Eliott lists off, "Lucille's job is more stable, regular hours, minimal travel," continuing with, "It made more sense. Doesn't make me miss her any less, but it's worked so far."  
  
"She's going to kill me when she finds out," he groans, referencing his ex, already anticipating the headache, "Figures I get Lea for the first time after almost two months and she ends up getting hurt."  
  
"I feel bad," Lucas says apologetically, "You're missing out on time with her to be here."  
  
"It's alright," Eliott waves off his concern, sipping on the flute of wine they'd ordered by the bottle, "Lea's probably asleep by now anyway. Besides, she was much more excited at the prospect of spending the night with Aya than me," he says, referencing Imane and Sofiane's youngest.  
  
"They had a play date, before the whole broken arm thing happened. Imane got stuck with a graveyard shift, but Sof said to drop her off when I told him I bumped into you."  
  
"I guess Sofiane doesn't hate me as much as I thought he did."  
  
"Why would he hate you?"  
  
"I- I just figured after everything that happened..." Lucas stammers, "Well, I guess I wouldn't blame him."  
  
"I thought you and Imane stayed in touch?"  
  
"Yeah," Lucas says, "But it's always been a little awkward with him," further elaborating, "Probably my fault, to be fair."  
  
"He likes you." Eliott reassures, jokingly adding, "I guess he just likes me better."  
  
They carry on bantering, Lucas asking questions typical of a regular fan about the celebrities Eliott worked with before, Eliott inquiring about Lucas's own career and Mme Lallemant, even though he made sure to call the latter routinely to check in with her.   
  
Between the main course and dessert, when the waiter has cleared off their table, and Lucas is wiping his mouth with a napkin, he follows up by clearing his throat, saying, "I have a confession."

"I knew you had a daughter. I didn't know she was at the hospital, but I knew you had one."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yeah," Lucas says, "Imane kept me updated. Although, she failed to mention you and Lucille broke up," he adds, sounding a little annoyed.  
  
"It hurt a lot, at first," he admits, "Knowing you were fine when I wasn't," pausing to fiddle with the loose threads on the upholstery of the chair, "But after awhile, when I finally forced her to stop updating me, not knowing just hurt more."  
  
"I kept tabs on you too," Eliott confesses, "Idriss told me you practiced at the same place as Imane. I never imagined I'd bump into you like this though." 

Noticing the serious turn the conversation took, he steers it back to something less daunting, mentioning offhandedly, "Those two are so alike, as much as they hate to admit it. Idriss told me everything but never mentioned anything about you dating."  
  
"So," Eliott goads, "Any torrid affairs, epic loves that I should know about?"  
  
Lucas snorts, shaking his head bemusedly, "Torrid affairs? Are you serious?"  
  
"Completely," Eliott throws back, grinning, even if his heart aches just a little at the possibility of it being true.  
  
"No," Lucas sighs, "Nothing like that. Nothing worth mentioning at least."  
  
"Come on," Eliott prods, "It's been more than five years, that's a literal whole child," he points out, "You're telling me no one's come up at all?"  
  
Lucas hardens at that, hand stilling as it lifts up his glass. Taking a long swig, the glass lands clumsily on the tabletop, teetering precariously as the remaining liquid threatens to spill out in a pool of red, "You're joking right?" He says incredulously, "You can't really be asking me that?"

"I didn't realize it was a sensitive subject."

"You're a lot of things, but you're not dumb," Lucas retorts sharply, "I meant what I said the last time we met. And, I remember everything," he hesitates briefly, "Do you?"

_Of course I do._

"I'm going to New York next week for work," Eliott says out of the blue, "And I'm not coming back for awhile."

"Oh," Lucas replies, voice hollow as he inquires, "What about Lea?"

"I'll come back when I can, for holidays and the summer," he says, "Fly her out if it's more convenient."

"I see."  
  
"Lucas," Eliott starts, swallowing the lump in his throat, willing himself to continue, "I'll be back. This project, it'll be long, but once it's done, I'm going to come back. And this time for good."  
  
"What are you saying?"  
  
"I'm saying," he trudges on, reaching for Lucas's hand whose knuckles have gone white around the dessert spoon its clutching, "I think we've held off long enough."  
  
"It's our turn now," Eliott announces resolutely, "Will you wait for me?"

"I think we should leave now."

He's pretty sure he can physically feel his hope shattering, but Eliott escorts them outside anyway, where the sky's gone dense, rain trickling in rivulets irregularly as they arrive at his car in the parking lot. He feels a hand stop his when it reaches to open the door, Lucas blazing with a ferocity unlike anything he's seen on his old friend.

"Don't say things you don't mean, Eliott."

The drizzle turns violent, falling in torrents to the ground, neither moving for shelter despite reprieve waiting in the form of Eliott's car parked in front of them. Lucas stares at him, searching, reading. He feels exposed and vulnerable, the need to break eye contact overwhelming.   
  
Then, before he can, Lucas holds his hands out. And the rain, the setting, the hopeful look in the other man's eyes, it's all too similar to be a coincidence. So, staying true to his storyboard, he embraces his movie moment and the muse who inspired it, a movie concocted in his mind during one of the darkest stages in his life. His lips collide with Lucas's, like the conclusion to an unfinished song, the completion of its final verse, melodious and enchanting.

"You watched it," Eliott whispers against Lucas's mouth breathlessly, not wanting to part unless absolutely necessary. He feels Lucas's head shake in bewilderment, smiling into the kiss, pausing to look up at the sky. Eliott mirrors the movement, not quite believing this wasn't a dream, or that any of it was actually happening.

When their eyes meet again, he's overcome by the need to feel his body align with Lucas's, so he does, clutching him to his chest desperately.

"So," Lucas says, breaking away, staring up at Eliott dreamily, "Long distance, huh?"

Eliott grins, raising his eyebrows, countering teasingly, "Think you're up for it?"  
  
"I'm game if you are." 

* * *

 

 

_ages 44 and 46_

  
  
Eliott disembarks the plane at Charles de Gaulle bleary eyed, craving the solace of his condo awaiting him. Home, or as close to a home as it got for him, considering his lifestyle. The direct flight from New York was riddled with turbulence, mitigating any chance at acquiring sleep. He lethargically goes through customs, eager to bypass each stage of the process keeping him from the terminal, where, this time, he'd have his own person on stand by rather than the chore of calling an Uber driver to pick him up.

Lucas is waiting for him, immediately perking up when Eliott walks through the sliding doors with his carry on trailing behind him. 

They facetimed regularly, texted frequently, and, occasionally, when his schedule was relaxed and Lucas was able to get time off from the hospital, he would come back home or fly Lucas out to New York to spend days, sometimes a week at times, together. It was what kept them sane throughout the duration of a long distance relationship preceded by so many years apart. He thinks that it might have been a blessing in disguise, unsure if he could tolerate their separation as well as he had if he knew what it was like to be one half of a normal couple with Lucas.

When he kisses Lucas hello, he does it rejoicing over the knowledge that it was permanent. No more interludes or sporadic reunions scattered throughout the year, holidays celebrated apart, or nights spent alone.

The car ride to back to his place is a blur, Eliott unable to prevent himself from occasionally drifting off, Lucas's hand holding his throughout the entirety of the trip. He tries his best, but once they finally reach their destination, he can't remember the last half an hour at all.

"Sorry," Eliott apologizes sheepishly.

"For what?"

"I- Ah, nothing, I guess."

Eliott hauls what he can of his luggage on his own, leaving Lucas to deal with the remaining baggage as they ride the elevator up to the eighteenth floor. Lucas fishes out the keys given to him by the previous subletter of the place as instructed by Eliott when they'd moved out earlier in the month, opening the door and assisting in the transfer of suitcases from hallway to the living room. 

"Home sweet home," Eliott remarks, flopping onto the couch when they're done, gesturing for Lucas to take the vacant cushion to his left, "Thank you for picking me up."

Lucas joins him, leaning into his shoulder, absentmindedly playing footsie with their bare feet, "What are boyfriends for?" He replies fondly, pressing a sweet kiss to Eliott's lips.

The question slips out before he can stop to worry over whether it's too soon.

"Care to make it a little more official?"

Then again, it's been close to forty years. If he delayed it any longer, it might have come from beyond the grave.

Lucas stills, eyes nearly popping out of his sockets, "Is that a proposal?"

"If you want it to be."

"Eliott!" He hisses, "What the fuck?"

"What?"

"Are you serious?" Lucas demands indignantly, "That's how you're going to do it?"

Eliott sits up, straightening his slouched posture, eyes boring into his boyfriend's, "What's the point of waiting now? We're not exactly getting any younger."

"Speak for yourself old man," Lucas grumbles, shoving him away playfully, "I expected a little more from the self proclaimed king of romance."

"What's more romantic than a spontaneous elopement?

"Uh, I can think of a thousand other things-" he stalls, looking at Eliott suspiciously, "Wait, what?"

"Let's do it today," he proclaims confidently, "The courthouse, just you and me. Do we need witnesses?"

"I- I don't know!" Lucas splutters, "Shouldn't you? You're the one who's gotten married before!"

"If you're not sure-"

"Shut up, you dumbass," Lucas snaps, "Of course I'm sure," hesitating, "Are you?"

Eliott answers by surging forward, kissing Lucas, hoping it conveys that it's the surest he's been about anything in his life. When they run out of breath, he kisses his cheeks, the dimple in his chin, the junction where his collarbone meets his neck, and whispers, confidently, firmly,

"I'm game if you are."

They go to the courthouse the same day, Eliott jet lagged and Lucas jittery, armed with rings the former had purchased and hidden in his suitcase almost immediately at the official start of their relationship. The whole affair lasts barely an hour, Yann and Idriss, their sole friends available on such short notice, being the only one in attendance besides them and the officiant. 

The vows are sombre, perfunctory. Not nearly as poetic as either of them wanted, but then again, neither was the situation. They kiss to the sound of Idriss and Yann's cheers and hoots, loud enough that they almost don't miss the rest of their family and friends presence in the hollow, impersonal pews of the venue. 

Instead, Eliott makes up for it that night, painting his vows on Lucas's body like a prayer, reverent, worshiping, without words and all consuming.

It's not their first time, and it's definitely not their last.

But, something about it feels like a beginning. 

He phones his mom at dawn from the balcony connected to his room, their room now, he supposes, Lucas slumbering inside, knowing she's probably already awake and preparing for her routine pre-breakfast walk around the block. 

"Good morning."

"Eliott! Is everything okay? Why are you calling so early?"

"Yeah Mama," he confirms, "Everything is fine. More than fine, actually. Lucas and I, we got married yesterday."

The scream that follows causes him to wince as he extends the phone away from his ear, listening to his mother's complaints about not getting invited.

"Mama," Eliott cuts in, attempting to calm her down, "We're going to do something to celebrate, don't worry. You can unleash your party planning skills then. It's just-" he says, "This was something that couldn't wait."

She quiets at that, silent before asking, "Are you happy, Eliott?"

"I am."

He can hear her beaming even though he can't see it.

"Then so am I."

A week later, Eliott wakes up late into Saturday morning to muted chatter that he suspects is coming from the kitchen. The imprint of Lucas's body on the bed is visible but cold, implying he's been up for awhile and let Eliott sleep in.

He gets up groggily, maintaining his curiosity behind the unexpected visitor in their home at bay so that he can freshen up and look like a human being before greeting them. When he walks out of the bedroom towards the dining area, Lucas is idly standing by the stove, using a wooden spoon to mix the pot simmering away on top and chatting with Lea about school and her extra curriculars. Eliott can't believe he forgot she was spending the weekend with them. Lucille must have dropped her off in the morning while he was still asleep. 

He observes them warily, searching for signs of awkwardness that he's relieved to note are nonexistent. Lea knew they'd gotten married impulsively, not nearly as surprised as Eliott expected her to be when he delivered the news over a phone call while she stayed at her mom's place. In fact, she was more irked at her lack of invitation versus any sort of objection to the actual event.

Lucas's eyes animate when Lea asks him for guidance regarding a science class she was taking, enthusiastically offering direction on how to approach it. He notices Eliott approaching from the corner of his eyes, acknowledging him with a soft smile before averting his attention back to his daughter, someone he could only wish Lucas would consider their daughter eventually, one day. The light refracting off Lucas's wedding band makes it look almost like glitter, warming Eliott's insides.  
  
It hits him then, the epiphany that had been ruminating somewhere in his subconscious revealing itself, Eliott unaware of it's existence until it manifested in front of him. This is what he wanted. The love he'd yearned for, the family he'd ached after, the life he'd striven to obtain for himself, the hollow emptiness bottled up inside him that he longed to fill,

It was Lucas.   
  
Eliott approaches the pair where they stood, slinking his arms around Lucas's torso, placing a gentle open mouthed kiss to his neck as Lea groans out a  'Gross dad!', and Lucas, his best friend, husband, the love of his life, laughs and curls into his chest, leaning in as he continued to stir.

* * *

 

 

 _ages 50 and 52_  
  
  
Eliott wakes up to rays of late afternoon sun, light fragments peeking through open slots of the blinds, brightening the otherwise shrouded in darkness bedroom. Lucas is fast asleep beside him, mouth hanging wide open, snores light but audible all the same. Laying a chaste kiss on his cheek, Eliott reaches over Lucas to check the time on his phone.

Fuck _._ He was supposed to wake up hours ago.

Lucas and him had sent Lea off to university earlier that week, helping her move into her dorm and get settled in. Not ready to acknowledge that his daughter wouldn't need him in the same capacity that she previously had ever again, Eliott proceeded to bury himself in work until yesterday, meetings with editors working on his film releasing in the next few months, finalizing contracts for potential employees at his recently established production company, a joint venture with Idriss a long time in the making. 

Combined with Lucas's excessive hours at the hospital, persisting well into his career, even at this stage of his seniority, and the abundance of work at Eliott's own disposal, there was no lack of distractions to occupy his mind. 

Until yesterday, where all it took was stumbling upon an old picture of Lea, from when she was no more than two or three years old, to get Eliott bawling. He must have been the epitome of sad dad when Lucas came home, witnessing Eliott drowning his sorrows in alcohol and ice cream, a blubbering mess snuggled into the loveseat as the TV droned on the background, a rerun of Fort Boyard on loop.

Lucas, versus launching into interrogation mode, hones in on the picture frame Eliott clutched in his lap, wordlessly curling up next to him and stroking his hair as they indulged in massive amounts of Ben and Jerry's plus tequila well into the night. 

"Hey," he says, poking Lucas in the cheek until he wakes up, the latter squinting as he adjusts to the light, grumbling and pulling Eliott closer to him, needy and exhausted, Eliott's arms wrapping themselves securely around Lucas's waist. 

He places a kiss on the top of Lucas's hair, breathing in the scent of his shampoo that lingered after his shower last night, "When do you want to leave for Imane and Sofiane's tonight?"

Lucas groans, buying his face into his pillow, "Imane said 18:00, which probably means she told everyone else 20:00." 

Eliott snorts at that, laughing into Lucas's shoulder, "Can you blame her?"

"Hey," Lucas says defensively, sitting up, despite Eliott's protests, to reorient himself so they're face to face, "I'm pretty sure it was directed at both of us."

Eliott scrunches his nose in disagreement, prompting Lucas to kiss it, making him laugh, pulling him flush against his body, kissing him a little deeper than he usually would right after waking up. A thank you kiss, an I love you kiss, a never leave me kiss. 

"Morning breath," Lucas points out, mumbling the words against his lips.

"Don't care."

The two settle into one another, Lucas nestling into his chest as Eliott's own hand automatically finds itself threading through the other man, his husband's, unkempt hair. 

"Twenty five years." Lucas murmurs wistfully.   
  
"It's a lot," he replies, tangling their legs together, "I hope we get there too."  
  
"Aren't we too old for that?"  
  
"I plan on living forever," Eliott declares, "What about you?"  
  
Lucas hums, pondering for a second before responding, "Forever and a day less."

"What's the logic behind that?"  
  
"Don't think i'd be able to live without you," Lucas says cheekily, "Even for a day."  
  
"And I'm the sap?  
  
"Oh, shove it."

As if determined to prove his point, Lucas is ready to leave at exactly 17:30, allowing them ample time to get to Imane and Sofiane's place, traffic notwithstanding. He taps at his metaphorical watch obnoxiously, waiting at the threshold of their condo for Eliott who gives him the finger as he slips his shoes on.

"Now who's the late one?"

"Still you," Eliott throws back, "Isolated incidents don't count."

Their friends have done wonders in transforming the outside of their two story home. While some of the decorations, such as the white string lights and colourful lanterns illuminating the front yard in a soft glow, look like they've been carried over from the Eid celebrations Lucas and him attended a couple of weeks ago, not that Imane would ever admit it, a few notable additions have also been incorporated. Namely, the sign with the couple's picture displayed on the front porch (definitely Sofiane's idea), and a banner with the words 'Happy 25th Anniversary' written in large cursive letters that Sofiane is currently in the middle of hanging up. 

Sofiane almost falls off the ladder upon sighting them, steadying himself and calling out, "You guys are here already?"

"Don't act so shocked about it."

"No, I mean it's great," he retracts automatically, "Imane'll be happy. I think she needs a hand in the kitchen."

"Good to know one of our hosts is glad to see us."

"Oh c'mon Eliott," Sofiane grumbles, arm on his hip, "Do you seriously need me to say it?"

Eliott waits expectantly, arching an eyebrow. Sofiane sighs, "Alright, fine. I'm happy to see you. Now can one of you help me get this damn thing to stay up?"

"I think Eliott's got it," Lucas interjects before he can volunteer to help out with anything related to food, "I'll go see what I can do in there." He gives Eliott a swift peck on the lips, opting to shake Sofiane's hand versus their customary hug and heads inside the house. 

"You've got that dumb look on your face again."

Eliott walks up to the ladder, passing pieces of tape to Sofiane who sticks them to the banner in x's against the concrete support of columns preceding the front door, "Oh, like the one you get whenever Imane's name shows up on your phone?"

"Yeah," Sofiane smiles, jumping off the ladder after the banner's positioned and stable, "Just like that."

Eliott laughs, pulling his friend into a hug, "Congrats man, twenty five years isn't an easy feat."

"It's easy when it's with her," Sofiane replies simply, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, leading them both inside, "But thanks man," clapping a hand on Eliott's back, "Means a lot."

"Happy for you guys."

"You'll get there too," Sofiane says knowingly, "You and Lucas."

And Eliott, gaze landing on Lucas who's arguing with Imane over the so called flawed aesthetics of the food arranged on the table, imagines they will.

* * *

 

 

One year later they'll go back to Petite Ceinture together for the first time since they were teenagers.

Two years later Lucas will start to take on less work, relieved to relegate some of his strenuous duties to the junior doctors at the hospital, and happy to see Eliott more often than in the morning before breakfast and in the evening when he kisses him goodnight.

Three years later he'll stand by Lucas's side at Mme Lallemant's funeral service, a second mother to him and their biggest supporter, comforting his husband through sobs and shedding plenty of tears himself.

Four years later Lea will give birth to her daughter and Lucas will be the one soothing his nerves as they wait impatiently in the visitors lounge for their first grandchild to be born. 

And,

Five years later at Cannes, where Eliott's most large scale feature to date will premiere for the first time, they'll make their debut on the red carpet as a couple, older than Eliott had imagined in his fantasies, hair peppered with grey that he refused to dye and Lucas slightly frailer than he was back in his prime. A reporter will approach them, starting off with questions about the movie, the differences between this one and his previous films, before broaching a subject Eliott consistently refused to entertain in the past. Eliott will see it coming as soon as the journalist's gaze inevitably flickers towards their interlaced fingers.

It'll only make him happier.

He'll recall what he told Mme Broussard years ago, his fears of the future, the disdain he associated with relationships when all he wanted was to love and be loved back. He'll want to tell the Eliott of his past, the teenager, young adult, the middle aged man, that he would get his turn.

 _I want to die happy_ , and in this minute, if I was to cease existing, if the world ended, if time stopped, the earth coming to a standstill, 

_I think I would._

"So," the reporter will start, "To touch on a question, the elephant in the room so to speak, burning at the back of everyone's mind tonight, after being completely elusive about his personal life for his whole career, who's the man on Eliott Demaury's arm this evening?"

Eliott will gaze lovingly at Lucas, silently asking permission, even if it was a little late to claim they were just friends, "This," he'll say, squeezing their grasped hands tight, as Lucas smiles sweetly back, "Is my husband. Dr. Lucas Lallemant."

Her mouth will widen in an 'o', aw-ing as she asks, "How'd you two meet?"

Where does it begin and how should he start?

Maybe, he'll write a screenplay about it one day. Their history, hurdles and triumphs and everything that came in the middle. In that minute, however, Eliott will simply exchange a bemused look with Lucas, who's clearly thinking the same thing, replying with,

"It's kind of a long story."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_ [...]One’s a boy and the other one… it doesn’t matter [...] they’re afraid of each other’s world. [...]They end up chatting every day, they get to know each other until they realize they’ve fallen in love[...] _

**_ then, life happens, they fall apart before falling together, until _ **

_ [...]one of them conquers their fear and decides to go into the other’s world. _

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Update july/2  
> Lea is now 23 when she has her first child. I have read through the story and made some minor edits and fixed a lot of typos, but am done with it for now. Thanks for your understanding and putting up with it, i was cringing at some of the mistakes i made lol
> 
> Edit: june/30  
> A reader pointed out to me that Lea's age didnt make sense in the context of the story. When i was writing this, i kept changing ages and messing with the timeline and lea's age ended up making no sense haha. For now, i've made it so that she is  
> When Eliott and Lucas meet - 7 (which means Eliott and Lucille had her a year into their marriage)  
> At the apartment post Eliott and Lucas getting married - 14/15  
> When Eliott and Lucas send her off to uni - 17  
> Has her first child in the epilogue - 19 😬  
> I will amend the last point when I can, but for now I will leave it like this. Thanks a lot to chukimei for pointing it out and I'm so sorry i wasn't more attentive about this point
> 
> [transcript for eliott's desc of polaris from the show is from here](https://reivenesque.tumblr.com/post/182955527458/its-called-polaris-and-its-about-two-characters)  
>    
> i wanted to die writing them as kids, i've never done something so mind numbingly difficult lmao
> 
> i'm at a point in my life where so many things are uncertain, but writing has been cathartic throughout this period, and to get so many kind words for something that ultimately makes me feel better is kind of unbelievable.
> 
> i will also be taking a break for a little while, using it to decompress and find my happy, hopefully sooner than eliott did here haha. this is not a goodbye, but a see you later, and i hope to meet you all again in the future through new chapters and stories.
> 
> happy summer and lots of love :)
> 
> P.s. im also on tumblr, albeit rarely, if you want to chat outside the archive! @fkapsincaps


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